The Changing The Summoning from Derek's POV
by kiran9437
Summary: This is the Summoning from Derek's point of view, he is my favourite character, I'm hoping to continue it past all three books. Tell me what you think, please review. Hope you like it!
1. Chapter 1

**One**

Lyle House. We were here first, me and Simon, the two most divergent brothers known to humankind, but we didn't share any blood so at least there was an excuse. The days that ensued us being tracked down by the child services and being sent her were tediously repetitive. And exasperating. Oh, they were nice enough, Talbot more so than her counterpart Van Dop, always chirpy and eager, trying to make this as pleasurable a stay as possible like it was a temporary trip to Disneyland. They even catered for my "advancement in academics", providing textbooks, biographies, revision guides. Nothing overtly expensive, but enough so I wouldn't be hindered and would continually progress at the same pace.

No, all in all, Lyle House wasn't the most unpleasant place to be, I could cope here. It was the lack of likeliness that we would ever leave this yellow hell hole that rankled, Simon appeared perfectly content doing his daily chores, sweeping the leaves, making the beds. Being a ritualist, he did as little schoolwork as possible that was assigned to him, just like in school, surviving in classes on the bare minimum, aside from Art he had never achieved a grade above a B-. The only difference in this sense was that there were no distractions from the mundaneness of lessons and household tasks in the form of pretty girls, sports or friends.

No, he was stuck with me.

Even after Peter's arrival we mainly spent our time with each other, on Simon's part not by choice but simply because there was no other options available to him. Me, I'm more self-reliant. Peter, however was of little interest, from what I know of Simon this could have been for several differing reasons. One, he wasn't female, two, he was younger than us by about two or three years and was still at that stage – which I had plainly skipped – where video games seem like meaning of life, three he had no inclination in making friends with Simon and fourthly he was not very interesting. Personally, I believe the first two reasons had the most influence.

Then Tori arrived, or _Vic –tor-ia _as her pretentious and patronising mother had stressed much to her embarrassment. Instantly, I thought Simon would snap out of his delusion, he would hopefully see that there was life outside of Lyle House, a life filled with girls just as pretty as Tori, if not prettier. It didn't happen, for some reason Simon did not find Tori attractive, or at least didn't admit to. When I called him on it, it was so unlike him that I actually started worrying, he made noises about being tired of the same sorts of girls chasing him. And she did chase him, most ardently. Once, on a group outing, excluding me, they all went bowling, Tori used to being fawned over and adored came ceremoniously down the stairs in her designer jeans and dark blue sweater, obviously wearing a push-up bra and according to Simon, batted her eyelashes every chance she got.

Even when they were still inside waiting for Talbot to finish preparing my dinner for one, it was an endless rendition of:

"So, Simon, what sports do you play?"

"That's _so_ interesting, do you prefer basketball or baseball?"

"Oh my God, me too, what a _crazy_ coincidence"

"I love blueberries as well, they're just so . . . refreshing."

"Oh, you're diabetic. That must be _really_ hard."

Insert an inane giggle/ fluffing up of a dark bob/ reaching over to offer a sympathetic squeeze of Simon's crushed fingers where appropriate.

I would have almost felt sorry for her, if she didn't occasionally break off from flattering Simon to give me a death glare or make some snarky comment and generally whine, bitch and moan. I was actually quite proud that Simon could overlook her symmetrical features and make a judgement based on her dreadful personality. Dad taught him well.

On the same note, not liking Tori meant avoiding her became paramount and this in my disillusioned eyes meant that Simon would be more open to the idea of escape, not so much. If anything he was more firm on this matter. Rae and Liz came, two very different girls, both nice and pretty. I liked Liz more since she actually deigned to make an effort to talk to me. The first day she came at dinner she watched me annihilate the tasteless casserole, blinking repetitively she opened and closed her glossed mouth – courtesy of her new best friend Tori – until she found something innocuous to say:

"So, you like casserole," she observed, stroking the ends of her luminous blonde ponytail like a pet cat, Tori snickered and a flicker of annoyance entered Liz's blue eyes. It was surprising to see Tori and Liz form such a close bond, since from every snide remark I have ever had the fortune of hearing come from Tori's mouth has always been critical of blondes. The mass media has a lot to answer for as their portrayal has deemed them dumb, flighty and dependent on their usually butch male love interest. Though that is not the part Tori has issues with, Tori dislikes the fact that blondes apparently only have to bat their wide eyes to get people to simper over their perfect looks and thus do their bidding. Simon spent an hour explaining this to me, for reasons I still am unaware of. This is what we do for fun around here.

Liz did, however, have wide eyes, wide, blue eyes to be specific and blonde hair, but there was considerably less batting coming from them than there were from Tori's dark eyes. Just saying.

Still, it was nice of Liz to make an effort, however misguided, and she didn't stop, she said one polite thing to me daily like she was filling a quota, even if it was just discussing the weather. It wasn't her fault that I preferred being ignored and left to my own devices, although after a week I did expect her to take the hint. Rae never bothered, she thought me rude and not worth her time, she treated Simon just the same, argued only with Tori and bristled constantly about her weight. I once said that she didn't look obese to me in a private conversation with Simon and Rae, eavesdropping, found that unexceptionally rude and yelled a bit about my own aesthetic inadequacies. Nice.

For once, possibly since the first time since he turned twelve, Simon did not have a girlfriend. It would have been a nice change if Tori hadn't taken the role anyway and decided to badger me about Simon's whereabouts and recreational habits. It was just like being back at school when there was a big function coming up and at least five girls would interrogate me about Simon's date. The highest score was for the last prom where nine girls had shown an interest, according to Dad that was scientific proof that Bae's just got better with age. I'm not a Bae. I'm Derek Souza. An up and coming werewolf, coming soon in cinemas near you, bring silver bullets.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

My legs twitched as I dreamt, in that half state between the real world and dreamland, idyllic images passed through my mind: running in the woods; the sun bright and harsh, beating on my back, lighting my way, filtered down through the thick green branches; the smell of a deer; the sound of a nearby stream; twigs cracking and snapping under my . . . paws?

I shot awake as something ice cold hit my face, droplets of refrigerated tap water hit my face sliding to my chest, "What the fuck?" I rubbed my drowsy eyes, nostalgic for the dream. Freedom, it seemed to sell; if only it was a consumer item. Simon's grinning face impended over me, eyes sparkling impishly. I grabbed the clear glass of cold water gulping it hurriedly before he could do any more damage.

"Took you long enough to get up, bro," he slapped my back, "Breakfast's in five," predictably my stomach growled, eight hours without food was almost too much to bear. I glanced at the clock, make that nine hours. Simon sat, fully dressed and cross legged on his single bed waiting for me to move or initiate a conversation. "What were you dreaming about that made it so hard to tear yourself away?" I have watched enough television and heard enough banal conversations between my peers to know that the apt response would be: your mom or mama depending on what you prefer, but mothers were not an accepted topic of conversation for sorcerers so I scrounged for something believable. "Have you finally, like every other normal sixteen year old in the world, started crushing on a girl?" he teased, flipping through his sketchpad with a critical eye. "Do tell, do tell, I have you down as a Megan Fox kind of guy, what do you think?" he revealed an anime version of Megan Fox drawn and coloured. Inspired by the promotional pictures for Transformers, she sat on a gleaming motorcycle in the suitable gear, if short denim shorts are considered suitable, her long black hair threaded with blue, a helmet propped on the handlebar.

"Nice," I commented unfeelingly, "You have way too much time on your hands," I stood, I slept only in my boxers as my temperature seem to rise throughout the night and I get unbearably hot. Simon made a show of covering his eyes.

"It doesn't matter how many hours I waste on the abs machine, I am never going to get your physique, you know, it's a good job our society requires us to wear clothes otherwise you would go from being plain old Derek to a Jonas brother." Because that's my aspiration, I snorted my disbelief, as far as I know, girls are a lot pickier than guys and they were not going to look past my general shortcomings just because I could bench press more than Vin Diesel. "You still didn't tell me who you were dreaming about," Simon pressed cheerfully, he's like a dog with a bone half the time.

"I wasn't dreaming about anybody, just places," I mumbled, padding to the bathroom. A long shower should give him time to change the subject. I scrubbed viciously at my hair that seemed to attract grease faster than spilt sugar attracted ants. It wasn't until I was dry that I realised I had stupidly forgotten to bring a change of clothes. I knotted the towel around my waist and proceeded to wash my face, brush my teeth and comb my damp hair. No sense in making two trips.

The bathroom door clicked behind me as I quickly gained on the bedroom. Shit, I heard bracelets clinking together as someone hurried up the stairs. _Please don't be Tori, please, please, please,_ any attention from her could never be good. I searched for a door to an empty room, none. I considered retreating back to the bathroom, but she would see me anyway. I strode on, jaw taut, head down, hoping whoever it was would just think that Peter was an exercise bulimic. _Smack!_

Our room had to be right next to the stairs, didn't it, I got a mouthful of apple-scented bright blonde hair, I was just relieved it wasn't Tori. Liz gaped, looking up, I was taller than her than I thought, her soft blue eyes looked horrified, like I wasn't scary enough already. Nonchalantly, I made to walk past, but she blocked my route and I didn't want to move her out the way, she might scream. "Excuse me," I mumbled, edging around her.

"Oh, sorry . . . ," she looked like she had forgotten my name, ". . . Derek, Derek! Sorry!" she tripped over her words, spots of pink on her cheeks, "Enjoy your breakfast," she waved and left as I zoomed into the room. That was embarrassing. What if she told Rae and Tori? The nurses would get suspicious and start monitoring me even more. Simon joked that if they saw they would think I was taking steroids, what if they did tests? What would they find? My mind stuttered through all the possibilities, gradually getting more panicked.

"Are you doing everything in slow motion today?" Simon chucked my folded clothes at me, "Where is your head? We're going to be late for breakfast, come on," thank the Lord that breakfast was separate from the girls, I wouldn't be able to cope with Liz's suspicious glances. We traipsed down the stairs together in silence, well, I was silent while Simon kept up a running commentary of what he would rather be eating right now than what they were giving us. Sausage, egg and bacon McMuffin; leftover pizza; Cap 'n' Crunch cereal; toast with jam; cucumber sandwiches raspberry cheesecake . . .

"You do know you're diabetic, don't you?" I studied him, we sat next to each other at the round pine table, Peter still in his room. Talbot beamed brilliantly at us, her grey hair freshly permed. God, what is happening to me? I never used to notice this much about people, I even knew the colour of Tori's eyes, Tori, I sank my head onto the surface of the table. I really missed the old me.

"Derek," he nudged me, concerned.

"I'm fine," I said with a bite to my voice. I was just worried, worried about Dad, about Simon, about me. We need to get out of here.

"Peter won't be with us soon," Talbot announced proudly, "He's doing wonderfully and soon should be successfully rehabilitated and allowed to reunite with his family," she sounded like she had written the words down and rehearsed them. I shared a look with Simon. "So I hope you boys will be extra nice to him today, so he'll have nothing but good memories of this place." She blinked, looking at Simon, never quite meeting my eyes during the entire interaction.

"Because if we'd been bullying him all this time, one pleasant conversation would eradicate that memory, wouldn't it?" I mumbled to her turned back. Simon looked at me, grin still in place, worry clouding his eyes so they went dark.

"What is up with you today?" he frowned, "First sleeping late, then the abnormally long shower and the mental breakdown you appeared to be having when you forgot your clothes. Everything's okay, isn't it?"

"Yeah, dandy. What's up with you, you're annoyingly cheerful today, did you finally decide to give Tori a shot?" I deflected his question, pouring milk over my cornflakes, then sprinkling sugar and stirring. I chomped heartily, already thinking about my second and third bowl.

"Ha, not likely. As for the cheery thing, I'm a cheerful guy, Derek," he raised his eyebrows as if to say I should try it some time.

I scowled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

I lay spread out on the floor, unable to get comfortable, while Simon was downstairs completing an independent science project, the tutors were happy to let me do my Maths exercises wherever I pleased as long as I didn't disturb anybody, hence me being in the bedroom. My head throbbed making it difficult for me to concentrate, but I muddled through one mind-numbing problem after the next. What about if you have supernatural powers and you sorcerer father was kidnapped by what you think are very bad, very dangerous people. What do you do? Now there's a problem worth solving. I flung the biro away, tension easing when I heard it connect with the wall. I flipped onto my back, breathing deeply. _Don't get angry, keep calm, you can fix this_, I told myself.

Escape was the only logical conclusion, why did Simon have to be so stubborn? Was our situation not complicated enough?

My fists clenched of their own accord, I heard faint voices and concentrated, anything to keep from going mad. It was Van Dop on the phone discussing a new tenant, no kidding, she actually said "tenant". I turned to the noise, making out the words.

"Yes . . . yes . . . no two weeks minimum," she clarified, "she will need to be assessed until she can return to you . . . of course, all our residents are happy here, not that they would prefer this environment to home . . . no that wouldn't be normal." I chuckled, normal was a term they threw around a lot here, it was ironic how I – as far from normal as a partial human being can be – wished with every fibre of my being to be normal, to not worry that if I defended Simon again I wouldn't break someone's back, when countless people all make every effort to be special, to stand out.

"Chloe Saunders, at your earliest convenience . . . yes tomorrow would be fine," I nearly marvelled at how pleasant she sounded on the phone. "Yes, of course . . . we shall make every effort . . . yes, no we will let her settle in before meeting the others . . . I promise." The person on the receiving end wasn't letting Van Dop get through a complete sentence without interruption. I smiled, not something she's used to.

Bored with her conversation and still an hour away from lunch, I picked up Simon's sketchbook, an act which would upset him greatly if he knew. He detested sharing unfinished work, although as I scanned through the pages none of them seemed to be works-in-progress. Normally Simon would start five different drawings at the same time. It felt weird flicking through the first ten or so, relics of another life, a comparatively normal other life.

Simon's friends after discovering how "awesome" he was at art would commission him to draw them pieces, for the girls it was either themselves, their friends, their secret crushes or celebrity idols, the most popular being Jonny Depp in all his Jack Sparrow glory. True to form, the guys just wanted hot girls that looked like they could be the centrefold of the next issue of Playboy. Original. That explained the Megan Fox one, there were a few more that I recognised but I was unable to put a name to their faces. There were none of the other kids here excluding me.

It was from the start of our stay here, I hadn't been sleeping all that well, obsessing over Dad and the guy I'd hurt, one day at literally half past two I slumped, knocked out cold with exhaustion, Van Dop prodding me with a stick didn't even wake me. Simon had been crying his laughter when he retold the tale to me, acting it out, and impersonating Van Dop's shrill scolding voice with impressive precision. The anime me looked better than the real me, although Simon's good at shading he was tactful enough not to add my blemishes, basically it looked like me when I was twelve, at least facially, my build was the same. He had taken some artistic license and portrayed my biceps as on the verge of ripping my tee-shirt.

"Derek!" Van Dop yelled, "Lunchtime!" I sighed; it felt like eons since my mid-morning, nutritious snack of oatcakes. I sniffed hopefully, my stomach grumbled in a complaint: casserole, again.

The dining area was occupied, Tori was reading what looked like an article, and she didn't acknowledge my presence. Good. Simon smiled encouragingly and waved at the generous helping he managed to get for me. I surveyed it, the green vegetables assaulting my nose tauntingly, it still wouldn't be enough, I spotted a pile of fish cakes near Peter and grabbed it discreetly, there were six there but no-one else had noticed them. I chewed energetically, mollifying my stomach, my eyes wandering aimlessly until they caught Liz's. My cheeks flamed, I had entirely forgotten about our earlier altercation, the look on her face told me she had seen me take the fish cakes. Shit. I took a deep breath, preparing to do damage control, she wasn't the brightest and she had limited information, she wasn't going to go Derek has a six pack and eats like a horse, so oh my god he's obviously a werewolf; still, it was better to be safe than sorry. I watched her from the corner of my vision.

Curiously, her gaze roamed over my thick, oversized sweater like she was guessing where all this food was going. She went beetroot when she saw that I knew what she was doing and quickly turned away, "So, Peter . . . are you looking forward to going home?" she said lamely, twirling a fork in her hand.

"Yeah. Can't wait," he muttered, stabbing his Nintendo DS with murderous intent.

"Wow, the enthusiasm here is completely overwhelming," Tori remarked, pushing the newspaper away with a malicious twist of her lips. I could hear Simon sigh heavily. "Tell me Peter, are all thirteen year olds as ungrateful as you are you one of a kind?" her insult went unnoticed by him. My superior height meant that I knew he was more concerned with killing the revolving panda in his game. She still carried on, unstoppable, I smirked when I though how easy it would be just to clamp her jabbering mouth shut.

Liz looked at Tori disapprovingly, "I know I can't wait to go home. I really miss my brother and my Nana –"

"I bet you guys miss your Dad, don't you Simon?" Tori cut Liz off, her gaze intently focused on Simon's response like the world spinning on its axis depended on it. He nodded. Tori's head drooped with disappointment and I swung my attention back to Liz, who looked uncharacteristically sad. I gave her a small, tentatively friendly smile and she beamed back at me. The world was restored to its rights. She brushed crumbs off the table and continued single-mindedly eating her food.

"Do you want some more?" Simon whispered, seeing my almost empty dish, Simon's casserole had barely been touched, he scraped his helping onto my plate, "I don't understand how you can eat this . . . slop," his nose screwed up in distaste, "It's so . . . healthy, there is pretty much nothing I wouldn't do for a Big Mac."

"Needs must," I mumbled back, our conversation was too quiet for the others to hear, but both Tori and Liz had their heads tilted in our direction. I guess I'm not the only nosy one. I ate methodically eye on the time I wanted to complete the next chapter of my Physics book today, it was on relativity, always an area of interest. Something tapped my knee, I thought I'd imagined it when I didn't feel it again and then it hit me again, this time I heard the accompanying noise, a dull thud. I looked under the table and saw eerily fluorescent bright blue nails and almost yelped. It tapped my knee again and I saw a Twix hidden in the hand, I looked round the table, it definitely wasn't Simon's hand. Dad accused him of being meterosexual but he drew the line at painting his nails. Tori was in a sour mood as she had been rebuffed again at the hands of Simon, Peter was in video world and Liz was stifling laughter, her posture at an awkward angle.

Liz was giving me food. Why? She tapped again insisting that I take it. I did. I met her eyes and she shrugged, unconcerned, "I don't like them," she mouthed then smiled kindly before turning to Tori to discuss labradoodles.

This might sound weird but I think I just made a friend. I shook myself. Talbot studied us all, actually walking around the table to take us in at all angles. "I have some news for you kids, it's very exciting." She paced again holding our attention. I already knew what was coming, the new girl, she was set to arrive either today or tomorrow. Lucky her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

Talbot insisted everyone clear out, in order for the new girl to make herself at home. Home here, seriously, as if the overwhelmingly yellow colour palate would ever remind anyone of anything other than a doctor's waiting room or your Great Aunt Muriel's stay at the nice care home when she had unfortunately sprained her ankle. Yellow, one of the most bothersome colours around, always too bright, too happy, too positive, all the shades reflect the same sorts of ideas, the connotations I have with it are all negative, this place for one. Lyle House. What a waste of our time and yet the staff go about their business acting like they are doing us a favour. Who are they kidding? This nice, safe environment doesn't fool anyone. It tries too hard, like a playroom at a crèche, wants to be as unintimidating as possible for the little kiddies so they relax. It fails here too.

Simon went with the rest of them to see some awful romantic comedy, most likely starring Kate Hudson or another of those generic actors that play the same roles over and over again. Cameron Diaz, Julia Roberts, that's as many as I know. I think the only movie I watched all the way through was An American Werewolf in London when it came on television that one time, largely out of curiosity. Imagine an eight year old looking at a hairy beast on the small screen thinking that's me except worse because I'm real, and they wonder why I shy away from social activities. I stay holed up in my room finishing a maths assignment, faintly I detect movement around the house; can guess where the new girl is. I consider getting a look at her, see if I can spot what is wrong with her, that's what Simon would do but I can't be bothered, am wholly indifferent about her presence, just hope that she's not another Tori. There are already too many of them.

It is late now, pitch black outside, I'm surprised they haven't returned yet. I take my nightly shower, fairly certain that everyone else is either asleep or absent, by the time I return to our room Simon is lounging on his bed staring intently at a comic he just bought. "Hey bro," he smiles genuinely, a pale blue visor on his spiked blonde head. Hates his hair does Simon, sick of people questioning whether it is natural or not, Dad used to tease him about it, called him an anomaly. I can still remember Simon scowling tucking his hair into a ratty cap, touchy about his appearance in our early teens, he needn't worry: girls liked him anyway. "Seen the new girl?"

I shrugged disinterestedly, mumbling something noncommittal and sliding into my freezing bed. Half my legs dangle off the end, damn those inopportune growth spurts. Simon grins kicking my feet, he's still dressed in his jeans and sweater, "Aren't you going to at least ask about the film?" he looks at me expectantly, my ineptness at social interactions evidently a source of amusement for him. He pushes the comic away, lately he's been quieter than usual, more reserved, less outgoing, I can't recall the last time he actually drew something of his own volition. There is no way I can approach the subject of Dad while he's in this uncharacteristic state.

"I already know how the film was." I turn on my side, I'm not even tired.

"How could you possibly know? You don't even know what we watched, hell, I'm pretty sure you are completely unaware of the day's cinema listings. Unless you have suddenly become telepathic," his eyes flashed with any vague mention of the supernatural. Although, I am pretty confident that no species can read your mind, I guess it can't hurt to be careful.

I glared at him, "Seen as you are so desperate to share the news, why don't you just tell me?" The sooner he says it, the sooner I can dream about freedom, running, chasing, exonerating myself of my continually agitated condition, I detest feeling cooped up. I prompt him with a scowl.

Simon is unperturbed, laughing, he goes to the bathroom to change and brush his teeth etcetera, always making a great deal more noise than I do, in a way it is reassuring. At least then no one can take me by surprise. He returns in a goofy Spiderman t-shirt that I believe one of his interchangeable girlfriends purchased for his latest birthday, or Christmas. One of those, it could have been Thanksgiving, if people exchange presents then. Do they? I chuckle quietly at the web design of his pyjama pants; you don't have to be the prom queen to figure out that they are unspeakably embarrassing. "Piss off," he climbs into his bed, opposite of mine, he fits in easily, no feet or calves poking out, "They're the only warm pair I've got," he declared defensively.

"If only Tori could see you now, she would soon change her mind," I quip.

"Why do you say it like it's a bad thing, chance would be a fine thing," he rolled his brown eyes unhappily, "She insisted we watch a horror flick today, insisted that she sit next to me and that we share a bucket of popcorn. She spent the whole time clutching my arm and telling me she hated these kind of movies because they scared her to death." We shared an unimpressed look, Tori was a pretty enough girl I believe, the kind that are used to getting what they want, she had shiny hair and would usually fall into Simon's type, except unluckily for her he had changed. "I don't even know what the film was about . . . no werewolves though," he added as an afterthought, a small smile directed at me. He kept doing that, trying to reassure me that he was okay with it, that he thought it was cool. Right.

"Well, in that case I am glad I missed it," I shut my eyes, prematurely.

"So what did you do?"

"Simon," I snap, unable to help it, "What do you think I did? I painted my nails and then had an inspiring chat with Einstein about his theory of relativity, and then I wrote a bestselling novel and won the Pulitzer Prize. The jet is outside."

He waved a thick textbook, "More maths, then?" he sighed, bored probably, I can't blame him. At first he was the optimistic one, trying to keep everything chipper. It'll be like boarding school, he said, we'll be out before we know it and then we can find Dad. Three months we have been in this godforsaken place, everything broken up by endless waiting. Waiting for something to change; for something to happen; for Dr Gill to give me the all clear; I can't help but feel a bit responsible, after all it's because of me we are here. _May never walk again_ . . . I shudder, grim thoughts rising to the surface.

"You know instead of all this futile small talk, you could actually consider going to sleep," I subtly suggest, I study his light pointedly.

"Not tired."

"That's really selfish of you," sighing, I sit up. I'm not going to get to sleep if Simon is determined to stay awake. It's not his fault, it's just me and my instincts, can't settle down if he is awake and unprotected. It's a pain.

"Sorry . . . Liz was upset because she hates horror movies too; she wanted to watch that new Kate Hudson movie." Told you. "Pete spent the whole time on his gameboy and Rae was possibly the only one into it. There's already talk about going on a group swimming trip." His unenthusiastic grimace said everything.

"Fun," I commented rather unhelpfully. My voice devoid of any emotion, I knew he felt bad that I was confined in this Victorian antebellum house while he was allowed to venture and explore the unbelievably exciting town of Buffalo. He just didn't get why I would rather be here than out there, constantly on guard and self-conscious, worried at attracting the wrong kind of attention and freaking out once again. This arrangement was safest for all involved. If only he would agree then he might actually consider going to find Dad. Alone. Of course, he is intractable on this; he refuses to leave me here alone.

"I wish you would come out with us," he said sounding distinctly like a three year old.

I stare at him, "You know why I can't, besides it's not like my company is so compelling, I'm sure Tori is a lot more entertaining." My first attempt ever to lighten the atmosphere. It didn't work.

"Ha," he snorted, "At least she sure thinks so," his expression says he clearly doesn't agree. "I wonder what the new girl is in for." My lips quirk at the prison lingo, she sounds like a convict, but then I walk through the house in my mind: normal and cheery form the outside, a nondescript exterior nothing odd, even the inside is bland enough not to raise any alarms, but there are security measures, nothing to unnerving, locks, keys, even to the windows. The red dot blinking ceaselessly, a constant reminder that we are stuck here; it mocks me every day. The moral of this mental trip being that this place is a prison, except it masquerades as a normal house. I wonder how long it will take the new girl to figure it out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

Therapy time for me after maths, Van Dop kindly informed, dour eyes looking at me like a particularly irksome job on her to do list. I shovelled my second bowl of Crunchy nut into my mouth; Pete's pupils were dilated proving that he had blatantly been playing Nintendo DS all night. Simon looked tired, preoccupied with avoiding Tori and staying upbeat. This institution could suck the soul out of anybody. Van Dop, younger yet less vivacious than Mrs Talbot, whose silver curls and wide hipped body covered in colourful floral patterns reminds me of the concept of kind grandmas that spoil the third generation of their family, glances surreptitiously at the clock when I return to my room indicating that I should get a move on. I grin widely at her and she leaves me be. God forbid, should I wish to strike up a conversation.

Ten minutes later, no sign of the new addition I go to Dr Gill's office. She was a diminutive woman with a closet full of black pant suits and features that would have looked more in place on a rodent. Beady, greedy eyes, pad of paper resting docilely on her lap while she wielded her expensive navy blue parker pen. Her legs were crossed and she was perched on the edge of her brown leather chair, back ramrod straight so she didn't feel at such a disadvantage. I grunt a vague greeting and she smiles encouragingly, unfolding a pair of fragile wire-rimmed glasses, her jerky movements betraying her nerves. I can't help the vibe others get from me: dangerous. One could argue that it isn't just a vibe. I sit on the chair pulled out opposite her, wiping my hands on my jeans. I'm still hungry.

"How are you feeling Derek?" pen poised, her glasses slip down her prominent nose, bulging eyes not quite making eye contact.

I don't say anything, I know better than to answer open-ended questions like that, they practically beg you to fall into the trap, to tell too much so they are bound to find something that could be misconstrued. I wait silently for a more direct enquiry, eyes running around the room, my arm itches slightly but I refrain from scratching aware that her twitching eyes are documenting every movement I make with clinical precision.

"Derek . . . ," she sighs, already wanting this session to be over, "Are you sleeping okay?"

"Fine."

"Excellent, has your temper flared at all, recently?" she doesn't bother sugar-coating it, not worried about upsetting me. "Have you practised the different techniques we discussed? People often undervalue the power of deep breathing and just counting to ten, it helps you gain clarity in the midst of a heated situation, so you think calmly and don't do anything rash." Like cripple a kid, the words go unsaid, I feel shame.

"Yeah, I've practised," once and it didn't quite work, on the plus side nobody got damaged. My temper keeps "flaring" no matter how many times I try to reason with it, I bite my lip for fear I might growl at her. It's always this way, I know she wants to help me but I enter here on the alert, defensive, grouchy, nothing changes. My stomach grumbles too quiet for her to hear it, but it seems rudely noisy to me. Unable to concentrate I jiggle my foot, can feel her eyes watching me. Creepy, but she is trying to help, no one wants me out on the streets. We talk over other strategies, the ones that might be better suited to me, she warns me again to not get into confrontational disputes in the first place. Just keep your head down, like a child on their first day of school.

"You should consider outlets for all that teenage angst," she muses, twisting the cap of her parker pen. Angst, she really thinks my hormones are responsible for this, little does she know that my "condition" is hereditary, fortunate for society that I don't see me procreating sons in my foreseeable future. Although, it shouldn't, I feel better knowing that there are others out there like me, hating every second spent in public places, being oppressed by the combined smells of the school cafeteria, feeling out of place, I'm not alone. Regrettably the three werewolves I did know, however briefly, weren't very nice and ended up dead. I really hope that's not an omen.

I leave feeling worse than when I entered. Tori sails past me, "What you looking at?" her scowl rivals mine. I blink innocently at her, I wonder if she realises how insignificant she is here, no boy to fret about asking her out, no friends to pander to her. I stare back at her and her eyes shift away uneasily, irritated, I can proudly say I have never lost a staring contest. And no that's not the only contest I've won.

Simon, quieter than normal sneaks around the corner, "She gone?" he mouths, thumb pointing in her direction. I nod when she's left. He returns to normal, casually sauntering up to me, clicking his fingers to a tune in his head. "God," he shook his head, "I'm hiding from a girl, until this moment I never fully realised how pathetic my life had become," he pondered for a second.

"Well, I had and there's a quick fix to that," I eyed the exit significantly, in particular the blinking red light, so easily disabled.

"Just leave it, alright," he rested his eyes on his shoes, "How was it?" he nodded to Dr Gill's room.

"Really helpful." I say sarcastically, griping for the hell of it which doesn't really help anyone but is my failsafe unconscious defence mechanism. I can't take it out on Gill or Van Dop or Tori so I take it out on Simon, I believe Freud called it displacement. I feel a little guilty, an emotion normally alien to me. "It was okay," I glance at him apologetically for a fleeting moment.

What an earth is wrong with me today? The strange dream, Liz being nice, feeling guilty, almost apologising. I subtly felt my forehead, apart from the acne and slight coat of oil my forehead was fine. Simon hummed under his breath and smiled brightly when I looked in his direction. Both of us were distracted.

"Hungry?" he asked pointlessly, a knowing gleam in his eyes as he led the way to the kitchen, lunch wasn't for another fifteen minutes yet but there were always crackers and if we were really timely cookies waiting to be raided.

"Always," food at Lyle House was never really a topic you could get excited about, consistently healthy and bland. Always a neat portion of two or three chopped vegetables, usually some steamed white meat and wedges. Lumpy gravy, lumpy mash and for desert the tiniest tub of sherbet coloured ice cream they could muster or Jell-O. I know.


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

I was right, not that it's a rare occurrence quite the opposite in fact, but when food is concerned I really wished I was wrong. Carrots, that's what we had to look forward to come lunch time, my lip curled in disgust. Surely this was a form of torture, I considered just walking out to the nearest Burger King or Taco Bell, I could murder four Crunchwrap Supremes and two Triple Whopper Value Meals. I'm so hungry.

"What's up? You look like you've just been told Santa Claus isn't real," Simon made a sad mocking face.

"Err, last I recall I wasn't the moron who believed he existed in the first place, you were the four year old idiot bawling in Wal-Mart when fake Santa's beard fell off." I raised my eyebrows, that was my first outing after . . . being institutionalised, I suppose you could call it. It wasn't very pleasant and Kit – Dad – soon realised after swiftly rescuing me that almost everything made put me on edge. Hence the reason he waited until Christmas Eve before taking us out as a family, we got some garish grass green tinsel from Wal-Mart while Simon sat on Santa's knee begging him for a quad bike. Then the cotton wool fell off the store manager's face and all hell broke loose. Until then I thought I was bad, but you don't want to see Simon throw a tantrum.

"It was disconcerting," he retorted, eyes flashing at the memory, "That stupid store manager destroyed my belief system."

"Yet you still got that quad bike," I pointed out, Dad was a sucker for punishment, all we had to do is snivel a little and we got whatever we wanted, it worked a treat when we were younger. Simon abused this all the time: remote-control cars; action figures; pens; comics; subscriptions to his manga and anime comics. There was no stopping him, I was a little choosier. The only time I exploited this knowledge is when I wanted _another_ Happy Meal.

"What can I say? I'm worth it," he gave his best L'Oreal pose; a flicker of doubt crossed his expression, anxious about Dad. So why don't you do something about it, I wanted to yell. "So what's the problem, Talbot's not stuffing sprouts into the casserole again, is she?" he asked with genuine horror. Fear of sprouts, Brussels-Sprout-a-phobia, now that was a family issue, carrots didn't seem so bad anymore.

"No sprout today, carrots, I think."

"You think," we were walking unusually slowly, dawdling in Simon's case, "I thought your nose was infallible."

"I think that's God," I stopped him from entering the kitchen, positive I detected the tangy, metallic smell of fresh blood, my arms goose bumped. I don't know what I expected to find, a butchered corpse, a dead chicken, but it raised my suspicions. "Someone's in there," I relaxed when I heard the familiar sound of the carrot peeler scraping rhythmically.

Simon rolled his eyes, "Are you always going to be this anti-social?" He slipped past me, "Crackers okay for you?" I nodded, debating whether to tell him that I think Liz and I may have bonded. No, he wouldn't believe me. "Stay there," Simon whispered over his shoulder, maybe he was scared of the new girl. Or shy, right, Simon was never shy. He made Barack Obama look introvert.

I stayed following Simon and then leaning against the door frame, I could still smell blood, at first I thought I could detect fear, a skill I have managed to hone over the past few weeks, I tensed in reaction to it as I was normally the source of such feeling. I was about to leave when it disappeared, the tension left my shoulders.

"Peeling duty, already?" Simon was whispering, vice modified so it didn't raise alarm, "What's you do to deserve that?" he asked quietly, being cautious. There was no use making a bad impression on the newcomers, unless of course it was impossible to make a good impression, I settled for not making them scream.

He needn't have bothered, I couldn't see the girl behind him but I saw the carrot drop clumsily from her hands. My stomach growled impatiently.

"You must be Chloe," Talbot must have given the others Chloe's life story when they went out, because I didn't remember being told. Simon reached for the boxes on the shelves, eyes quickly scanning the labels.

"I – I" she stuttered

"I'm not supposed to be in here, I'm Simon by the way," that's Simon, polite and friendly all the time, he knew all the rules for social interaction, not standing too close to people, introductions, eye contact, affable smile not too strained. Dad had given up trying to get me to blend in, he left it at don't hit anybody and nod when spoken to. Yes sir! In the end, and through no fault of his own, Simon only made me look worse.

Seeing nothing of interest on the shelves he looked at me and I gestured towards the walk-in pantry. There had to be something. He left the kitchen are exposing Chloe, naturally my sense of smell dictated what I saw first, which was her left thumb. It looked like it had been attacked brutally by several kitchen utensils. Not a cook, then. She had straightish, feathery strawberry blonde hair that curled at the ends near her shoulders. That was literally all I could see of her as she studied Simon distrustfully. Her hair colour would be condemned as ginger if it was anybody else's but somehow I couldn't imagine her getting teased about something so trivial. Maybe it was because she was so tiny, picking on tiny girls seemed underhand, but not everyone had my moral code. Besides, it suited her. Numerous flamboyant cherry coloured strands intermingled with her fair hair; I couldn't smell the hair dye so it must have been the expensive kind. Not like the packet Simon injudiciously bought to impress the airhead at our last school, who wanted to have ash blonde hair aside from Paris Hilton? More importantly, who actually liked it? And yes, when he came home frantically scrubbing his scalp and pleading with me not to let him do anything so absurd again, I did say I told you so.

Simon caught my eye over Chloe's head, waggled a box of graham crackers, the top was open so I shook my head. It wouldn't be enough. He rummaged for an unopened sleeve of crackers, and pulled it out of its hidden place when he'd found it.

"The other one's already open," Chloe suggested helpfully, at least she thought so.

"Thanks, but he'll want the whole thing. Right bro?" she followed his gaze, her head turning enquiringly like a newborn owl and yelped in surprise and possibly fright too. Her face matched her hair, pretty; she had the largest blue eyes I had ever seen, baby blue and bigger than Liz's. That could have been because they were amplified with disbelief, blush dotted her slightly round, pale cheeks as she took in my height and build and then checked again.

"I-I-I" she swallowed visibly, going through some mental processes before attempting to converse again. Some of the stress I felt reduced, her stammering wasn't an individual response specific to me, it was just a speech impediment, more common than people realise. "I didn't see you there," she said, trying and failing to smile. That's because I didn't want her to, ignoring her I took the cracker Simon proffered and was about to walk out.

A hand grabbed the back of my shirt and I wheeled reflexively, ready to put whoever it was into the wall. "We're still teaching him manners," Simon smiled assuredly at Chloe, who had fixed her round eyes attentively on him. I felt like I was interrupting, beneficially neither had noticed by self-protective stance. "Derek, Chloe, Chloe, my brother, Derek."

"Brother?"

"Yeah," I mumbled in a low voice, seeing no reason to adjust it for a complete albeit jumpy stranger, "Identical twins." That was a joke that never got old. Simon glared, amber eyes glinting with an unsaid message, telling me to either shut my mouth or be nice. I'd rather leave.

"He's my foster brother," Simon explained, "So I was just about to tell Chloe-"

"We done here?" I held up the crackers to indicate what I came here for.

Simon nodded to Chloe who managed a wan smile in my direction, not completely horrified by my insolence; she had more tolerance than most. "It's her first day," he mouthed importantly as if it should make some difference. We're not her welcoming committee, I shrugged, upon closer inspection her eyes were hazy so they must have issued her with drugs already, and the corner of her eyes looked raw. I felt a pang in my chest, not explicitly for her, but for once I could empathise, I knew how helpless and disorientated she must be feeling, unlike her though I didn't cry. My lips twisted in faint sympathy, but I shook my head and retreated. Simon would do a better job of putting her at ease anyway.

I passed Tori on the way to the living room; she strode for the kitchen, "Simon?" her voice resounded through the old house, "Aha I thought I heard you. You and Derek, always raiding the –"

I admired how she included my name in an effort to sound less like a stalker.

Simon caught up with me a few minutes later, perceptibly in higher spirits than before. His ear to ear grin didn't fade as we went up to our room, if anything it stretched. He sat, knees pulled up to his chest, on the chair while I sat on my bed munching ravenously. "You know, if you carry on, you might break some crucial facial muscles."

"It actually takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown, genius," he pulled his sketchpad from under one of my heavy textbooks. Shit, I had forgotten to put it back.

I snorted, "Prove it, anyway that silly grin on your face wouldn't be considered smiling by any scientist, you look like a lunatic."

Simon glowered, "Better than being an actual lunatic though," I flinched, that was unmerited, I was only messing with him. Too late, the involuntary reaction was triggered and the words in my file pulsed in my brain: **misplaced** **anger**; **violent** **outbursts**; **spinal** **fractures**; **may** **never** **walk** **again** . . .

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he looked suitably regretful, the smile was gone, dark eyes troubled, "Really Derek, I'm –"

"It's fine," I waved it away. The silence between us was unnerving, Simon dropped his sketchpad on the floor, it fell with a slap and set to twirling a battered and muddy soccer ball in his hand, slowly he smile returned.

His eyes glittered, "She was cute, wasn't she?"

I genuinely had no idea what he was on about, my first thought was he was talking about Liz and somehow had seen her give me a Twix. "Who?" I looked shiftily about the room trying to work out the knots in my shoulders; I must have looked suspect because he gave me a bewildered look.

"Who do you think?" he regarded me carefully, as if I was guarding a secret. I wasn't, not really, sharing food with a housemate isn't really world news, but I'd never had anything to keep from Simon before and I feared by not telling him I was making it into something bigger than it was. Liz wasn't my type to be sure, not that I'm even certain of what I type is I just know that the current best friend of Tori doesn't fall into that category. "Chloe," his lips twitched preparing to grin yet again.

"I hadn't noticed." I replied honestly, I had never described anybody as cute, except it was a fitting descriptor for the new girl. Small, slim and sweet, cute encapsulated her fairly well.

"Well she is, bro, take my word for it, she seemed kind of . . . shy, though. What do you think?" he looked expectantly at me, throwing the remainder of his crackers my way.

I stared blankly, what; he wanted me to dredge up all my abundant experience with girls to aid him in wooing the shy newbie? Likely, the cracker crunched loudly in my mouth, "I thought you said you didn't want to take advantage of the girls here because they obviously had problems and it wouldn't be fair –"

I echoed the sentiments he expressed when I called him on his newly developed total lack of interest in the girls here.

"Chloe seemed normal, I wasn't getting any crazy vibes," he justified, interrupting me.

"But you normally don't until it's too late," I glanced at him significantly; he knew what I was talking about.

He jerked in his seat, half standing, and half sitting, "That was one time!" he kicked the ball to the other side of the room where it collided with my science project, still a work-in-progress, "Sorry, anyway one girl isn't representative of all girls, Chloe seemed nice, I don't see what the problem is."

Neither did I. "I never said there was a problem, I'm just reminding you of your own moral code." My watch beeped signalling lunch, "About fucking time." I raced down the stairs, silently, leaving Simon in my wake.

Lunch was fine; this casserole had some meat in it so I spent the majority of the time searching for chicken in both mine and Simon's casserole. Peter was talkative as always, I admit when he leaves I might miss him, he was the only member of this household who was almost as rude as me and didn't obey social rules either. With him gone my discourtesy would only become more observable. Rae wasn't there and Tori and Liz chattered amongst themselves, not bothering to include Chloe. I attacked my food; I felt like there was a hole where my stomach was supposed to be and aimed to fill it as quickly as I could.

Halfway through my third generous helping, I looked up; Simon had all his attention fixed on Chloe, shooting questions like a talk show host. Chloe looked more embarrassed more than anything, Liz looked worried and Tori positively seethed. I could practically feel the steam rising from her, eyes narrowed nastily.

"Ninth grade," she answered Simon, reluctant to look at him, her gaze lowered to her heaped spoon.

"Cool, I'm in tenth, what school are you at now?" Simon's chin rested in his hand, this went further than just being nice, he honestly liked her, was actually interested in what she had to say. It wasn't much but I could use that.

"Erm, A.R. Gurney High," a polite blank look communicated that he had never heard of it, "It's an arts school, I'm a theatre student."

"So you want to be an actress?" Liz piped up, excitedly, earning daggers from the pissed off bitch sitting next to her. I cocked my head, interested in spite of myself, Chloe didn't seem like the actress type, it wasn't the confidence issues, or the stutter, she just seemed too . . . astute for that kind of lifestyle.

"N-no, err a director, actually," she went red, looking from Simon to Liz to me. I returned to my casserole.

"_Art school_," Tori breathed. "Isn't that just _fascinating_. Tell me, Chloe. What do you study there? Ghost photography? Ghost writing?" Chloe made a weird noise in response, but Tori barrelled on, "Oh," she turned innocently to Simon, "Didn't Chloe tell you she sees dead people?"

I almost choked on the casserole; this news even warranted a response from Peter, "Really. Cool."

I stared at her with renewed interest, horror clear in her eyes, it was true. I felt a little bad, she looked mortified, her fists were clenched, I was tempted to snap something at Tori about her own mental instability but thought better of it. Schizophrenic, that would be the label they had given her. Fitting, the symptoms of schizophrenia could be visual and auditory hallucinations, schizophrenics actually believed these were real whatever form they came in. The boundaries between reality and fantasy were blurred for them, this didn't mean that every schizophrenic actually saw ghosts but . . . in this case it was worth considering. My lip curled triumphantly, finally, a break.

"It's not like that. I –I –I"

"There she goes. Liz slap her back; see if you can restart her." Tori said impatiently and she called me rude.

"Stop being such a bitch Tori," Simon glared, her face was a picture, humiliated and angry, her mouth hung open floundering for something to say to redeem herself in his eyes. I stifled a laugh and scooped some more casserole. No one else seemed interested in it.

"I didn't mean it that way. Like Peter said it's cool. If she does see ghosts she could help Liz, you know, with her poltergeist."

"Tori!" Liz's spoon fell with a clatter, if I thought Chloe's response was something to behold Liz's always tended to be off the Richter scale, her eyes filled as her chair scraped back, making a long discordant noise. She fled to her room, tears dripping down her cheeks, I tried to smile in her direction but I didn't want to freak her out even more so I got the last of the casserole instead. Simon had saved Liz's glass and was now happily sipping from it still firing pointless questions at Chloe. Tori's head was down on the table, twice in one meal she had resorted into babbling apologies. How the mighty have fallen. Simon dropped a fork on the floor and Chloe surreptitiously glanced around to see if she had anybody's notice. I ducked down, absorbed in my food and watched her leave.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

I found out by default that Chloe was hiding away in the basement to perform the thrilling task of folding laundry. Liz happened to be my informant, if I thought her civility was a one-off she quickly proved me wrong. It seemed when Tori wasn't around she actually dared to speak to me and didn't fear that I would bite her head off, I would call that progress, Dad would be proud.

Again, after searching unsuccessfully for Simon I ran into Liz:

"Hey honey, I miss you too," a look of sheer, unimaginable panic transformed my features as I heard her chain of mellifluous nothings. Maybe, she was more unbalanced than I thought; she looked up stupefied by my expression.

"W-what?" And I thought Chloe was the only one, who tripped over her tongue, it took me a minute to see that she cradled the cordless landline near her ear. I'm sure some blood rushed to my cheeks, but I don't really care to remember.

"Nothing," privately I shook my head and waited for her to storm past. She didn't move. Rather, she settled on a packed box left in the hall, Peter had already started gathering his things together; my feelings would have been hurt if I actually gave a damn. The phone dangled from her hand and I looked closely, just like Chloe the area around her eyes looked sore. What was it with girls and crying here? I was just waiting for Tori to career round the corner, tears streaming.

"So, did you like the casserole?" her voice shook slightly and after my recent forays in collective communication I could sense that she was very homesick. I hesitated, torn between finding Chloe and consequently helping us get out of here and staying and comforting her. If I was anything like Simon I would have stayed, but with me there is never any guarantee that she wouldn't feel worse after our eating. I heard her snivel, so quiet that a human wouldn't have heard and that settled my decision. I couldn't leave her like this.

"Erm, it was edible, healthy, lots of protein," I mumbled, shuffling my feet.

"Right, I think you're the only one who actually ate any of it," her once over said to me that she knew I had virtually eaten the whole casserole. I really needed to be more careful.

"I was hungry."

"Like always," her now happy, animated eyes danced; "How come you have such an . . . appetite?" she smiled apologetically to show she wasn't trying to cause offence.

I shrugged, "Don't know," my guard was officially up.

"Well, here," she opened her other palm to reveal an orange peel-coloured packet: Reese's peanut butter cups. My face lit up, I love peanut butter I can eat it with absolutely anything or just by itself. It's delicious. "I got some yesterday when we all went out, I was having serious sugar withdrawal and then I felt kind of guilty, what with you being here and . . . Do you like them?" she stared at me hopefully.

"Yeah," I took the presented packet and smiled my thanks, tearing it open with my teeth, "I'm starting to feel like a dog with all these treats and everything."

"As long as you let me pat your head," she giggled, kicking her feet, she wore pink and purple striped socks and played with a loose thread on her sweater. I wondered what school was like for her. Did she have a lot of friends? A boyfriend? I didn't see her like that; she came off as more of a family person. How much did any of us really know about each other?

"Are you okay?" I ventured, offering her one of the peanut butter cupcakes, she took one, eating it in two bites then licked her fingers.

"Yes," she nodded definitively, "I just . . . Tori can be a little insensitive, you know?"

"You're telling me," I rolled my eyes heavenward, if there was a God He had a lot to answer for inflicting Tori on us, "You shouldn't let her speak about you like that, just let her know that it's not tolerable for her to spread poltergeist rumours about you. Your her only friend here, she'll oblige, trust me," I advised magnanimously.

"I half expected you to tell me to bitch slap her," I cocked my head, that sounded painful, she continued, "It's ironic, though, that you should say that, it's the same thing Simon says about you when you're being a jerk."

"Gee thanks," I muttered sarcastically under my breath, I didn't see the point in arguing in my defence, so I wasn't very nice, sue me.

She grinned, stretching her toes and rotating her ankles, "I don't think you're a jerk, at least not all the time," she amended, "at least you don't hit people in the face without meaning to."

"You haven't read my file," I stated calmly.

"Right," her eyes widened slightly but tactfully she didn't comment, "Do you think I have a poltergeist?"

I sputtered.

"I didn't think so," her shoulders deflated and against my better judgement I moved closer to her, "I don't mean to hurt anybody, really," her eyes grew wet, sparkling as puddles formed in their depths, "Sometimes I just get so mad," she whispered.

"I think I can empathise more than you realise," I said starkly, tentatively patting her on her shoulders, thinking of the redneck I had paralysed from the waist down. "You haven't done any lasting damage at least," I attempted to console her, "Next time, I suggest you target me I'm much sturdier than the others."

A funny looked crossed her face, she was leaning into my chest which should have been awkward but in reality felt quite nice. "About that . . . how come you're so . . . muscular?" she patted my abs in confirmation.

I shrugged, squirming, "Have you thought of making nicer friends? Rae seems okay."

"So we're changing the subject, fine, Chloe seems nice, I don't see why she likes the basement so much, laundry isn't exactly the most exciting task in the world."

"The basement," I echoed.

"Yeah –" I leapt away from her, and mumbled some excuse about forgetting to put my jeans in the wash, a spark of hurt and maybe of anger entered her eyes but she covered it.

I raced down the stairs hoping to do some covert observation; basements were dark, dank and dreary, in other words the ideal place for ghosts to come out and play. Nothing says spooky like the underground, goosebumps rose on my flesh, I was suddenly reminded of the Blair Witch Project, the worst horror flick ever made. It didn't stop me checking the brick for embedded nails though.

"The door is locked and I'm going upstairs," Chloe articulated, her fingers pressed to her temples like she was either a psychic or suffering from a migraine. Could she be a necromancer? Dad had taught us about the other divisions in the supernatural world: shamans; half demons; witches; sorcerers; vampires; werewolves; necromancers. Somehow, I don't believe Chloe was privy to the same information.

She turned purposely away from whomever or whatever she had been chatting to and smacked straight into me, less gracefully than Liz, her height meant that she stumbled. I waited until she regained her balance; it took longer than I thought.

"Who were you talking to?" I demanded, asking politely never worked for me.

"Myself." She raised her chin defiantly.

Likely story. "Huh," I planted myself in front of the doorway, letting her know I expected a better answer than that. Still, she tried to sidestep me, Simon was right she was cute but none too bright, "You saw a ghost, didn't you?"

She laughed. I didn't expect a full confession, but a laugh from timid Chloe, that was a surprise. "Hate to break it to you, but there's no such thing as ghosts."

"Huh." My werewolf instincts were like a cat on a hot tin roof, telling me that it wasn't right here, the hair on the nape of my neck prickled. I scouted the laundry room trying to pinpoint the source of my unease, nothing. I stared at Chloe intensely; I wasn't in the mood for this pretension. "What do you see Chloe?" I tried to hypnotise her into answering me honestly.

She started to stutter, for some reason I took that to mean she was lying and snapped, "Slow down. What do they look like? Do they talk to you?" Time was running out for me and Simon, something needed to change and fast, I really needed Chloe to be the catalyst. She was the first person to ignite any worthwhile response out of Simon, he was back to his normal self, and this was a golden opportunity. Dad needed us.

She inclined her head; her hair had started to curl around her small ears from tucking the strands behind it one too many times, "You really want to know?" she stood on her tiptoes and leaned up to my ear, her minty breath tickling the skin on my neck as I bent to hear her, "They wear white sheets with big eye holes. And they say "Boo!"" she looked angrily up at me, which was quite amusing, Chloe really couldn't do angry, she looked like a pissed off Chihuahua and I'd met a lot of them. "Now get out of my way." I stepped aside, fighting a smile; this would obviously take some coaxing before I got her to believe she was a necromancer. Still, stuck here, time was all we had.

"Hey, bro. Don't worry. I didn't forget you, just talking to Chloe." I grunted vaguely, so I'd heard. It sounded like a fascinating conversation. Simon flashed a blazing grin; I assumed the extra wattage was for Chloe's benefit and not mine. Ouch, Simon had the smile that made celebrities land the covers of magazines; it had the uncanny ability of looking heartfelt no matter the circumstances. A flash of teeth and instant reassurance, sure enough a flash of my teeth and . . . well, people didn't stick around long. Simon waved her way, she wasn't really worth my time if she stubbornly repudiated to admit to seeing ghosts. I looked at her to be polite, panic had overtaken her and she declined to meet my eyes. Suit yourself.

Simon lightly invited her to join us, I gave him a look, maybe he was just being nice, but what if she accepted, then what? I could hang around the outskirts while they flirtatiously shared basketball tips. Not for the first time, I felt like I was the only one taking our predicament seriously. He brushed past me, eyes downcast, telling me that he didn't want to discuss this again. Tough. "I'll get Talbot to disarm the door."

Which left me staring at Chloe, she looked so ordinary, not the aesthetics of a necromancer. I imagined they would be pale and quirky, long skirts, long, thick, maybe auburn hair. A ghostly quality to their apparition. Chloe was pale, but her style and features were unsurprising, I could imagine a million Chloes in school prospectuses, buying groceries, washing the car. Normal, she looked normal.

Was I sure about this?

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," she snapped. That wasn't very nice. I watched her for a few seconds longer, she stayed perfectly still, not twitching or reacting to any other preternatural presence. Her lips quivered. I left.

Simon, shockingly, was not receptive to any of my plans, yet again, this was getting old. If he bounced that stupid basketball one more time . . . I went inside to calm my nerves and rethink my strategies. Plus, I could do with a snack.

"She broke the skin. Blood. From a pencil! All because I dared to suggest . . ." I drowned Ms Wang out, instinctively knowing that Liz was seriously afflicted. The poltergeist thing, this wasn't the first time and I could think of less people than Ms Wang who I'd rather hit with a pencil. Typical teacher, biding her time, doesn't actually like kids but turns up to work every day in her boxy suits thinking only of her pay cheque.

"=My eyes slid shut when it dawned on me what this meant, "Fuck!" I kicked the doorframe, splinters splashing onto the floor. I cursed again, sweeping the mess under the stairs with my shoes. Liz would get transferred to a real mental hospital. Padded walls, decent security, a strait jacket, men in white coats patrolling, the whole shebang. My heart thudded, I didn't want her to leave, forget it, my mind told me, reluctantly I headed to the kitchen holding a few books and my calculator which I'd left in the media room earlier. Idly, I wondered whether Simon would object to a pit stop during his great escape, one rescue mission for Elizabeth Delaney. Probably not, you need a werewolf to pull off that advanced level of criminal activity. Another reason to feel guilty for not leaving with him, add it to the pile.

Chloe looked spooked as I brushed past her to the kitchen, but more like a necromancer, "Welcome to the madhouse," I said to her. Custard creams, that's what I want.


	8. Chapter 8

**A few things before the chapter**

**First of all, please please please help me think of a good title, more original than the one I've got, pretty please :-) Secondly, I am a Chlerek fan, really, I just like Liz too, but if you guys are really against the whole Derek/Liz then please let me know, but don't worry there will be a Chlerek ending as I'm trying to keep it tight to the original books. Third, there'll be a (I think you guys call it) a lemon or pineapple or whatever in the next chapter. You can guess who it'll be between, so do make a stand if you think it's too far-fetched. But to look at it another way, think of how a catfight would play out between a necromancer and a telekinetic ghost, maybe in the future . . . Thanks for reading guys, I'm new at this so please review so I know people are reading. Thanks again and enjoy!**

**Eight **

"Hey," I tried for a smile, Liz had been meek and passive throughout dinner notwithstanding everyone's efforts at conversation, and even Peter attempted to distract her, which was surprisingly kind of him. Chloe ad I remained silent, she didn't seem the talkative type and me? I'm not exactly outgoing but I wanted to say something, offer her anything in terms of comfort, to be honest I was growing quite fond of her, not like a crush or anything. More in the way of having someone to talk to that didn't consider me a menace. Saying anything at dinner, however, would have earned me a lot of distrustful looks, especially from Simon so I just had to settle for now.

The door was open to her and Chloe's room, her side conspicuously clean, I mentally reminded myself that she had literally only just arrived. Liz's, on the other hand, was a typical teenage girl's room: the desk littered with make-up, colourful powder spilling out of its containers, haphazard perfume bottles rolling around, ripped pages from popular magazines like _Seventeen_, if Justin Bieber was on her wall I swear I would have walked out right then. Luckily, they mostly consisted of glossy pictures of empowering, inspirational women, minus Hillary Duff. There's just no excuse.

She gave me a tiny smile, popped a chocolate in her mouth from the selection that lay beside her and turned over the page in her magazine, hidden behind a Calculus textbook. I took her silence for acceptance; I could hear Chloe and Rae in Tori's room so was fairly certain that they wouldn't walk in. "You can sit down," she patted the space beside her, I glanced sceptically at the daisy covered bedspread, "I know," she chuckled, "Not what I would have picked, but at least it's clean, right?" she fingered the small hoop earring in her ear and smiled more widely, "Nana took us California at Christmas once, we stayed in this grimy motel, you could just imagine the people shooting up in the next room," she shuddered, "We ended up sleeping on the beach, I've still got sand in my jean pockets now." She shuffled over to make room for me. "How old are you, Derek?"

"Sixteen," I sat undecidedly on the edge.

"Huh," her tone was saturated with disbelief.

"Why?"

"No reason, you just look older, that's all." She paged through the advertisement, occasionally stopping to inhale a scent or inspect a sample lotion.

"How old?" This isn't really where I wanted the conversation to go, the plan was to see if she's okay, maybe make her smile and prove that I am not entirely an unfeeling bastard.

She laughed quietly, "I don't think you're an undercover agent or anything, I just mean aside from the . . ." she indicated my face," you look way past adolescent, maybe nineteen. Not much older than that, it's cool." Thanks, I bent my head, slightly self-conscious now and held the magazine's slippery cover by the edge so I could see the title _Teen Vogue_, a brunette with large brown eyes and a devious smile was dressed in an elegant black gown, hair loose, very pretty.

"Natalie Portman, she did that film _Black Swan_, your kind of movie, I'm guessing. It's a little too heavy for me, I hate psychological thrillers, I fell asleep halfway through _Inception_, and I just couldn't keep up."

"Short attention span, Tori would say that's idiosyncratic of blondes, I hope you realise you're conforming to her stereotype," she waved away my concerns, "I don't watch movies." I added matter-of-factly.

"Ever?"

"Maybe at Christmas," memories of Dad hopelessly trying to cook an edible Christmas dinner surfaced in my brain, we usually ended up with ready meals. "I've watched _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory _a million times, the old one, the Jonny Depp version is unbelievably shit –"

"I agree." She twirled a lock of blonde hair around her finger, my suspicions returned tenfold. Did she have a crush on Simon? Was that what this all was about?

I coughed into my fist deciding to test my theory, "Simon once forced me to watch _Funny Face _because one of the girl's he liked was an Audrey Hepburn fanatic."

"_One_ of the girls? It's alright to be some, still it's pretty sweet. I went through that phase too, I watched Breakfast at Tiffany's every night before I went to sleep; it was my Mom's favourite movie. I even read the book," she pushed the magazine off the bed, losing interest, resting her chin in her hands, her concentration fully on me. "Thanks for coming, by the way," she said sheepishly, blushing at her words, most likely from embarrassment. I could hold the door open for a myriad of pretty girls, even safe their lives and they would not utter a word of thank you. So, as a rule, I don't. "It's nice to talk, don't really get to do much of it around here."

"You have Tori, though," I pointed out.

"I guess," her countenance darkened and I knew she was thinking _not for long_. She must be out of her mind with worry, a pucker formed between her neat brows; impulsively I reached out to smooth it. A look of surprise sparked in her eyes but she didn't pull away. "I know, I'm worrying prematurely but I can't help thinking that it's just a matter of time."

"Maybe you should have a word with your poltergeist," I snickered involuntarily, of all the excuses for throwing things around the room that had to be the least plausible.

She smacked my chest, "It's not funny," she protested before dissolving into chuckles herself, she wiped a tear from her eye, "I know how silly it sounds, but what other reason is there?" she glared at me challengingly, her shoulders shaking slightly from laughter.

I hadn't thought about that. Could it be a ghost? I'm fairly certain that a ghost can't touch or harm anything; they are just spooks, but what about a supernatural ghost? I huffed, I wasn't the expert and Chloe didn't believe in the supernatural, "Poltergeist it is."

"We're watching a movie later," her eyes met mine extending the invitation. Is she serious? I humoured her anyway not wanting to hurt her fragile feelings. "Tori said I could pick, do you want to . . ."

"What did you choose?"  
>"A rom-com," she said shamefacedly, my lips moved into a grim line. No fucking way. "Kate Hudson's in it," Naturally, "She has cancer or something I think."<p>

"I'll pass," reaching onto the floor I replaced the magazine in front of her and stood to leave. Biting my lip, I lingered by the doorway, she was on precarious ground here, now. "Liz?"

"Yeah?" she was still looking at me, watching me leave. Her voice was hopeful like she expected me to change my mind about the movie. I couldn't imagine why.

"Just be careful, okay?" I entreated her softly, "I know you can't control it, but maybe try and keep your temper under wraps . . .," her face grew angry at that, defeating my objective, "I don't want you to leave."

She sighed, relaxing, friendly again, she nodded in acquiescence, "Thanks," she grinned and waved, "Your missing out on the movie!" she yelled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

What the fuck? The insistent tapping woke me up from my reverie, in my mind I was currently preparing to jump across a wide stream, I could smell the deer on the other side, and my hind legs trembled with adrenaline as I got ready to jump. "Derek!" someone hissed through the door. Was I hearing ghosts too, is necromancy communicable? The alarm clock glowed bright, it was just before midnight. I rubbed my eyes; Simon was snoring softly so it wasn't another one of his pranks. I hesitated before padding to the door, unsure of what I expected to find.

I could hear someone humming gently, one of those maddening unforgettable pop tunes, maybe Talbot had some life-changing news to share or Van Dop decided that she was going to kill me in my sleep. "What is it?" I demanded in a loud whisper, before I had to check my night vision hadn't failed me. Liz stood nonchalantly by my door, in a tissue thin, arbitrarily buttoned white nightshirt that fell a few inches above her knees. And she was still wearing socks, black and yellow ankle socks to be precise. Her hair was messily loose, draping across her shoulders and luminous to my eyes. She smiled, relieved, and then blushed hotly.

I looked down realising that I only had my boxers on, a reminder of our previous meeting in the hall. I thought better of staying like this, not only would it make us both uncomfortable but my feet were freezing. "It doesn't matter," her cool hand stopping me on my back made me yelp.

"So what is it?" I asked more politely, massaging the knots near my neck, "If there's an intruder or something, grab a baseball bat and I'll meet you downstairs."

She laughed, "Very chivalrous of you Derek, besides with my "magic powers" I think I can take care of an intruder better than you can," I looked down uneasily, the scorn in her voice made it obvious that she had never considered the prospect of anything otherworldly to explain her quandary, although she readily accepted the poltergeist theory. Hypocrite. "Anyway," she tugged at the short hem of her nightshirt, possibly now aware of how little the both of us wore, "I didn't come for that, I came to . . . talk." She blinked her large eyes indecisively, pale face like a beacon in the darkness bathed only in the little light provided by the moon.

I shut the door behind me and walked a few steps away, quite surprised by how dead the house was, "About what?" I crossed my arms, so she would stop looking at anywhere but my face.

"Me," silence, she sighed, "I know you don't believe in poltergeists –"

"I think you'll find I'm far from the only one," I interrupted earning an eloquent glare from her.

"And I admit that it's quite farfetched, so I'm here to see if you have a better explanation," she stared up at me expectantly and that hurt. She actually believed I could fix it for her; poltergeist or not, for once I literally didn't have a clue. And it was not a nice feeling.

"I'm sorry, I don't . . .," I trailed off, the hope already drained from her face, now she just looked glum, unhappy and extremely worried. She was like a ticking time bomb, soon and much like me, she would get out of control and they would send her away.

"It's fine."

"Well, if that's all," I pusillanimously turned to leave, feeling responsible for her low spirits.

Once again her hand stopped me, this time it caught my collarbone, my temperature runs a little otter than normal, especially at night time, Liz's hand felt so cold I jumped and then tensed.

"You don't like being touched, do you?" curious now, she pressed harder, I fought the urge to bear my teeth.

"Not especially," I murmured, "It's more like I don't like being taken by surprise."

"Oh, sorry," her hand remained, "You've been here quite a while haven't you?"

"You could say that."

"Aren't you scared?" her huge eyes locked with mine, afraid at my blank expression she elucidated, "Don't you wonder if you'll ever get back, to your home, your family, your friends . . . your Dad. You've been here longer than I have and I am _freaking_ out"

"Me being here is no great lost," I deflected the question, my gaze skittering around the room, avoiding the weight of her look. Whatever answer she wanted I sure wasn't going to give it to her.

"Sometimes I wonder if anyone really realises I've gone, if they've forgotten I existed. No one's come to visit me," a sob built up in her chest, "If they move me, how will they know I'm gone."

"Talbot will inform you parents."

She giggled darkly, "She'll have a lot of fun trying," a few lone tears trickled down her face. She looked disheartened, despite the mirth glittering in her irises. Always a happy blue, no matter her mood. Unconsciously, she leant into my chest, my crossed arms forming a barrier, reluctantly I allowed them to drop, she just wanted a hug. Her lips pressed suddenly and lightly against mine and I jerked.

"Fuck," I hissed as my head contacted with the hallway's ridiculous lampshade. I rubbed my sore head, "What the fuck was that?" I stared her down, surprise etched into every contour of her glowing visage. My eyes had expanded to twice their size; patently she hadn't heard me say that I didn't like to be taken by surprise.

"Sorry," she didn't look particularly remorseful, her cheeks were still hot and her eyes were roaming lustfully, transfixed by my abdominal muscles. Had she never seen a six pack before? I pressed against my temples calming myself down. She was just upset, scared, a little horny, I contemplated calling Simon, he seemed the more likely choice, but all he spoke about was Chloe. "Sorry," she muttered again, fisting her hem, revealing more of her slender thighs.

My eyes flickered top her mouth, soft, shapely lips the colour of strawberries, I couldn't recall what they felt like, the shock had been too great. She rested her head against my chest, having to tiptoe, so I could tuck it under my chin. Her hair smelt of grapefruit, smooth skin tickling mine, it felt nice, she pressed her lips against my shoulder. Still feels nice and then moved slowly again towards my mouth. They met and moved in unison, she tasted like cinnamon, her lips parted and the kiss turned more forceful. Was this a dream? I don't know why I would dream about kissing Liz but . . . this couldn't be real. Her fingers lightly scraped my stomach, one hand stroking my back; she turned so she was resting against the wall and eagerly bit my shoulder. That fucking hurt.

"You taste so good," but I could forgive her, she tasted better than peanut butter which might not sound like much but believe me it means a lot. Her nose skimmed my neck as she hooked her long legs around my waist. "I don't want to leave," she whispered on repeat, slowly, seductively she unbuttoned the first five buttons of her irregularly fastened shirt. No bra. I kissed down her neck, nervous and excited at the same time, heart pumping like in my dream, like I was being chased. So pliable . . . she felt like a memory foam mattress, her hands tugged at my hair nearly ripping it from my scalp and I paused. What if she was supernatural too, as legend had it powers hit full force at puberty and this often resulted in hormones running riot and Liz was very hormonal. "D-Derek, stop teasing me." I sniggered, the very idea was ludicrous, I am a firm believer in taking al opportunities presented to you. Hence me resuming my attentions, I cupped her breast laving attention on the one, her legs tightened around me and my shaft twitched in response. Her ski was so peachy; I smoothed my hands down her silky thighs, savouring her moans, and feeling less insecure, the dark hid all my imperfections as well as the scars and bite marks on my back.

If she'd seen them, her first thought would be abusive parents or with a little stretch of the imagination an aggressive girlfriend, not a prison for young "cubs". Regardless of how intimate we were coming I wasn't going to offer that information anytime soon. She yanked my head, bringing my lips back to hers, "Is Simon asleep?" she murmured into my mouth, her tongue deliciously stroking mine.

"Dead to the world," my breathing felt loud, her hand reached for the door presumably so we could lie on my bed. No way. I scouted for an empty room and mentally cursed Peter for still being here. There was always the broom closet.

"Romantic," Liz said as I shut the door behind me and almost smacked her in the face, that's how small it was, she held up a yellow bucket entitled vomit for m inspection, eyebrows raised. "At least it's private," she shrugged, dropping the bucket that fell louder than I would have liked; I winced as it clattered and then it was forgotten. Forgotten because Liz had wrapped her arms around me and was sort of grinding against my barely covered crotch. Dry humping, our tongues twisted together, hands roving, mine brushed the cotton material of her damp panties and she whimpered, nodding fervently. She guided my hand inside; if I thought I was hot she was steaming, my finger sought her clit and she moaned in time with each stroke. I nibbled the sensitive skin of her nape as she bit out, "Inside," I tested her entrance and slowly slid my middle finger inside where she clamped down on it, tight. "Oh my God," her dazed eyes glazed over as she rocked on it before orgasming. "Wow," she breathed, shaking strands out of her eyes and almost colliding with a broom. Her shirt still gaped open displaying her creamy breasts.

Her hands grabbed my hips and brought them towards her, "I can't have sex." Okay. "It's nothing personal or anything, it's just . . . I'm not ready." She bit her lip actually concerned whether or not she hurt my feelings, whereas I was still dealing with the newfound knowledge that she was a virgin and I had just made her cum.

"It's cool, you know," I rubbed a thick blonde lock between my thumb and forefinger, pretty, grinning widely, I'm not sure why I was so happy since there was still an ache in my lower body but she just looked . . . adorable, "I don't have any condoms either so . . . it probably wasn't going to happen anyway."

"Oh, right," she slapped her forehead, "Why didn't I think about that, to be honest I skipped all the Health classes at my old school. All they did is show gross pictures of STD's, it was nasty."

"Way to kill the mood," I joked, my thumb brushing her slightly pouty bottom lip; I wanted to kiss her again. She stumbled over an apology, still fumbling her words when our lips reconnected hungrily. There was no space between our bodies and she gyrated in a way that made me very happy. "We should stop," I said breathing deeply through my mouth, I could scent her arousal and although it was flattering to know what my kissing could ignite, it wasn't practical when the crotch area of my boxers tented firmly, definitely in search of attention.

"I don't want to," Liz grumbled, "This is nice," she demonstrated my rubbing my hard-on. "You're nice." She caught my lip between her teeth and teased me with her strokes. I let out a shaky breath unable to summon the will to make her stop, it felt too good, and I was so close. Closer. Dear sweet Jesus, I shuddered, fingers gripping the rough surface of the wall.

Ten minutes later, we were still in the closet, cramped and sitting awkwardly, Liz on my lap occasionally requiring my lips. We talked generally about family holidays, bad teachers, worst subjects – mine was swimming, every time some moron little boy splashed me thoughtlessly with overpowering chlorine tainted water I had to refrain from throwing him into the nearest wall. Not fair. Liz was falling asleep, "I can't leave," she said and I responded with the usual words of automatic reassurance.

"I hope you stay too," I whispered as her eyes finally closed shut. She looked so peaceful; carefully I picked her up and deposited her back in her room and on her bed. Chloe tossed and I reflexively fattened myself against the floor. Busted. Cautiously, I sat to see she had just turned over, I buttoned Liz's nightshirt just in case she woke up and freaked out, then covered her securely in her blanket. "Pretty."


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

I awoke early, after literally collapsing on my bed just a few hours previously, if it wasn't for the sweet tropical fragrance of Liz's hair gel clinging to my skin I would have thought last night was a totally out of character one-off dream, generated by an excess of testosterone. Yeah, the truth was harder to swallow. Simon's snores reminded me that only my world had been tipped on its axes last night, my watch told me it was close to six in the morning, the birds were stirring to life outside. I deliberated about going downstairs to sneak a snack or finding Liz so we could . . . I don't know.

I'm not a romantic person, I have been fully aware since I was seven, and saw a pair of teenagers surgically attached to each other's mouths and declaring undying love for each other at a bus stop, that I am mentally incapable of being infatuated. It's just not in my nature, I don't get attached to strangers so it wasn't as if I was planning mine and Liz's elopement. I, by and large, tend to teeter on the more pessimistic perspective of life, thus I didn't expect Liz to gush to everyone about our tryst. Not only did she seem like a private person, but girls don't brag about their sexual exploits for fear of being labelled as promiscuous or "easy". Besides, I don't look like Troy Bolton (nor do I wish to) and am quite certain that last night will soon be termed by Liz as never-to -be-repeated.

She's just so pretty.

It's not like I hadn't noticed it before, all the girls here are aesthetically pleasing, in fact I am surprised that Simon – aside from Chloe's recent entrance – hasn't made reference to it more often. Rae's copper skin is flawless and her rich mahogany curls look like they should be the focus of a shampoo commercial or Elnett hairspray. Even Tori has her attributes in spite of her truly horrid personality, her high cheekbones and stylish hair suit the confidence she radiates on a daily basis. They are all neither underweight nor obese; though Chloe is tiny she doesn't come across as emaciated.

Liz is of average height and weight, her hair is really what makes her stand out. I don't want to be the predictable guy that always falls for the fickle, ditzy blondes and overlooks the savvy, smart darker-haired girls, but her hair is lovely. The brightest natural blonde I have ever seen, plus it is unbelievably soft to touch; her tresses match her eyes. Blue eyes and blonde hair, I guess I am a tad conformist, the constant media attention that surrounds said starlets like Blake Lively far surpass others, even though aside from their trademark locks they are not that striking, not say in comparison to Olivia Wilde (the only celebrity I fancy and Simon hasn't figured it out yet).

I tug at my hair, it needs a cut, and listen carefully, it's eerily quiet here. The tiny hairs on my forearms prick up, my werewolf instincts screaming at me to go investigate; I rub my suddenly clammy hands together. Yanking a hooded sweatshirt over my head I creep to the door. The material strains over my upper half constraining my muscles: Simon's. I have become so used to loose-fitting clothing that this stupefies me for a while.

"What in the hell are you doing up so early?" I jump at the sight of Simon's sitting dark form, his hair a spiky catastrophe. He grins, "That's the first time _I've _ever scared _you_," he gulps thirstily from the glass by his bedside. Always a morning person. "So what are you doing? Where were you going? Stupid question, food, right?"

"Do you want to actually let me answer or are you just happy babbling? Sometimes I think you really like the sound of your own voice," I answer, a little tetchily, my muscles jump under Simon's top warning me they need release and exercise. I rotate my shoulders.

"Maybe so, but that obviously means you hate the sound of yours." He extends his arms above him, yawning widely, "What time is it?"

"Six"

"Jesus, I think you're abnormal appetite is contagious because I'm freaking starving. Too bad nobody's awake yet," he eyes me suspiciously, "Yeah, Derek either you've grown so much over night that none of your ridiculous Eminem clothes fit you or that hoodie is mine," I took it off with a scowl, in no way, shape or form does my choices in clothing coincide with Eminem's. I pulled on a baggy grey jumper.

"Preppy, very Seth Cohen."

"Who's that?" I asked, confused. Simon waved it away with a look that communicated he was annoyed that I never got his popular culture references. "I know who Megan Fox is," I pointed out in my defence.

"Yeah, you and every other male in the world, so it doesn't count." I tried to think of something helpful Liz might have said and got nothing.

"Whatever, I don't watch much television –"

"Or listen to music, play video games, watch DVD's, or dare to step out of the confines of these walls and why? Because –"

"I played Grand Theft Auto and broke the controller because you cheated and then you cried for a week," I said effectively shutting him up, he opened and closed his mouth like a fish, eyes darkening, train of thought forgotten.

"You can't cheat at Grand Theft Auto," he hopped out of bed going straight to the mirror. Not that he's vain, this is the first time he has looked in the mirror out of interest since being here, usually restricting face time with the reflective glass for when he's brushing his teeth, but now he was taking a supreme interest in his reflection. Studying his face from all angles.

"If I didn't know better I would say you were practicing for your mug shot," I quipped.

"Ha ha," he kicked a lone, battered skateboard towards me, our room was full of abandoned equipment, Simon tried at least every sport once, basketball and soccer being the only ones that stuck with him. Lacrosse apparently is too complicated. Ice hockey too violent. Football too similar to wrestling.

"But I do know better," I continued, "and you only get this conceited if there's a girl or another charity fashion show."

He glared, "One time, Derek, one time, you know Dr Gill should warn you not to hold onto things so much, it's unhealthy. Besides it was for charity, I was just doing my bit for the . . . what was it?"

"Children, local hospital, you met with a little boy who had cancer . . . anyway as I remember it, and as I've just demonstrated my memory is more or less infallible, a girl had something to do with that too, and you walked down the runway in a scuba diving costume. Is that what people wear to the beach these days?" I teased, "I must have missed the memo."

"Charity." He repeated stubbornly, "I wonder if Chloe had done that at her school."

"Why would you wonder that?" I sneered.

"Well, she's at an art school," He tugged a comb through his tangled mass of hair, yelping when it caught. "You know, they do arty things, fashion shows are pretty arty."

"Really," I tried to rein in the sarcasm, but it was my instant response to whenever Simon grew interested in a girl. It didn't stem from jealousy rather the fact that every girl he met and dated was the same and Simon got bored after two days in their company.

Simon's jaw tightened as he sent a dark look in my direction, "You're such a cynical bastard."

My lips contorted fighting out an apology, "So she majors in fashion," I tried for an about face, keeping any satire off my features. Simon smiled, accepting my indirect apology.

"I have no idea, I doubt it, I mean her clothes are nice," They were?, "but she just doesn't seem that . . ."

"Superficial?" I supplied, not to his satisfaction, "Not superficial is good, excellent, even."

"Okay, I think you've filled your kindness quota for today," he threw his comb on the desk grabbing a tee shirt, "Let's get some food before we both pass out."

The house was slowly but surely coming to life, Tori and Rae were having a screaming match and then Talbot came scurrying past to calm Tori down. Peter's gameboy was zapping downstairs and if I listened hard I could hear Chloe talking. Either she talked in her sleep or she'd met a ghost because I couldn't hear Liz at all.

Where was she?

**Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa guys, something must have got lost in translation: Liz and Derek did most definitely hook up, 'if it wasn't for the sweet tropical fragrance of Liz's hair gel clinging to my skin I would have thought last night was a totally out of character one-off dream' but Liz's scent is clinging to him, so it was not in fact a dream. It was real. Oh and I am really sorry but Liz has to die otherwise it won't fit in with the books. She'll still be in it though. Keep reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

Miss Van Dop's severe expression was in place as I trod down the stairs, Simon skipping with eagerness, Talbot was murmuring on the phone and Peter as usual was immersed in a different world. My arms still goose bumped, I wriggled shiftily feeling strange, not because of last night, it was more just an intuitive feeling that something wasn't quite right. My legs felt heavy, my eyes weighted down, possibly due to the lack of sleep. How would I not go tomato red when I saw Liz?

"She's fine, Chloe," Talbot patted Chloe distractedly. The girls had already had their breakfast, at least everyone minus Tori, and were now bustling about the kitchen. Rae chomped on a brilliant red apple, leaning against the countertop, unconcerned with everything. Chloe looked genuinely worried, biting her lip anxiously, she was paler than usual and this raised alarm bells. Who was fine?

"She's gone to a better place," Talbot said to Chloe, I nearly fell down the stairs earning a puzzled look from Simon. A better place, wasn't that synonymous with heaven? I don't believe Talbot was being deliberately euphemistic, she hasn't the brains for it but if someone was dead, I would rather she just come right out and say it. Chloe shivered, spoon clanking against her untouched bowl, splashing milk everywhere. She regained her composure, smoothing fine strands of hair back behind her ears.

"I'd like to talk to her if I could. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye . . .," I didn't hear the rest of Chloe's words, a part of me was too busy feeling slightly sick.

"Bro, you okay," Simon worriedly appraised me, "You've gone kind of green," he slapped my back thinking I had choked, Simon's interpretation of the Heimlich manoeuvre. He walloped me again making me sputter, I hadn't consumed any food yet but nothing stopped Simon when he thought he was being helpful. Another reason to get Chloe onside, he could not resist a damsel in distress.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I wheezed doubling over, if I wasn't sick before I soon would be, my mind reeled at the news. Liz was gone. Sure, a part of me thought it must be Tori, she's not down for breakfast, but nobody not even someone as nice as Chloe would thank Tori, it had to be Liz. I cursed my razor-sharp perception of reality; I could have done with a few hours of denial. My jaw locked, brain slightly fuzzy, was it me? Did they somehow find out about what happened last night? Did they not think she was safe? My head dropped down to the table, I could feel the rage accumulating, bubbling in my blood, I wanted so badly to hit something. Anything.

"Derek," Simon shoved a Wagon Wheel under my nose, "You okay?"

My eyes slid to Chloe, she had gone to shower and dress as we ate, I could smell the sharp scent of soap as clearly as if she was sitting beside me. Still melancholy, her blue eyes, so different from Liz's in the sense that they visibly betrayed her emotions, glittered with distress like caught glistening raindrops. She knew something, Liz had been in her room, she might have had one of her episodes, I swallowed audibly, Chloe had only been her a day or so and already she had changed the dynamics. I wondered if her presence influenced Liz's sudden romantic interest in me, it seemed unlikely but . . .

"You've been quiet all day," Simon stared accusatorily at me, looking like a child who had just been told he couldn't go to the zoo. He bounced the basketball near my head, hitting it against the wall. The corners of his lips drooped when I didn't even flinch at the proximity, my mind was elsewhere. The more I ruminated over the previous night, the more I felt responsible. I just couldn't think clearly enough to see what it was, my brow furrowed. I remembered kissing Liz and stroking her breasts, her thighs, her lips, following the path with my tongue whilst rubbing her clit . . .

"Derek!" Simon's dense basketball came sailing towards my face; I stopped it in its tracks easily thanks to my reflexes and bounced it back to him. Where was I? Liz, her clit, that wasn't going to help me solve why she left. I kicked the brick wall in frustration, I had the overwhelming need to talk to her, just see if she was okay. I felt accountable for her welfare after the revelations of last night, even if it was just mounting hormones, she was still a nice, sweet girl that deserved to get out of this place and stay safe. Where was she? I kicked the wall again.

"Okay, obviously you need food," Simon slammed the ball into the basket, I couldn't tell if he had used his powers or not. For once I wasn't even thinking about food, but I trudged dutifully after Simon, he was hankering for another reason to see Chloe, I wished to see her too but for an entirely different reason. "So do you think she is," Simon lingered by the door waiting for an answer.

"What?" At that very moment I was deliberating the likelihood of Liz being dead, maybe a crash on the way to this new mental hospital, which would explain Talbot's ominous choice of words. My mouth went dry, dead, just like that . . .

"Chloe, I know you think she's a necromancer," he clarified in hushed tones, the sound of his voice suggested that what else could I possibly thought he meant. Another reason to be pissed off, keeping secrets from someone you spend almost every hour of every day with is extremely difficult.

"I'm not sure, why don't you ask her yourself?" I indicated the object of his affection who was further up the hall. Simon jogged to catch up, but I prevented him. Simon liked Chloe, and naturally she returned the favour, even had full conversations with him, so it would be easier for him to find out about Liz than me. "See if you can get her to tell you about what happened last night?"

"Isn't it obvious, Liz got mad, enter the poltergeist who smashed Chloe's room," his words not especially profound made my insides recoil, already he omitted Liz's name, it wasn't Liz and Chloe's room anymore, just Chloe's. The finality seemed harsh. Was she really, truly, definitely never coming back? I could potentially never see her again, I breathed through my nose, it's okay, just chalk up last night to experience, thousands of people have variations of one night stands. I shrugged it off, I am fiercely loyal y nature, I don't know if that's the lycanthrope in me or just me, this was going to take a while to adjust to.

"Just find out," he nodded, not seeming to curious about my sudden interest in the departure of fellow "convicts".

Simon quickly caught up with her," Hey. You seem quiet this morning." That makes two of us.

"I'm always quiet," her shy voice replied, perpetually polite, I speculated as to what it would take to make her angry. A lot, definitely. And to curse, the apocalypse. With my long strides, I almost reached the door before them and opened it above Simon's head he was too busy interrogating Chloe on her sleeping patterns. She turned coolly, muttering a good morning, obviously proud of her equanimity. Me, I'm not so easily impressed, I didn't answer, Simon ducked into the pantry par our routine.

She looked just the same as yesterday, I was sure I heard her talking this morning. Did she see a ghost? I inclined my head, absorbed in reading her expression, a necromancer; it suited her in a strange way. An official title, better than ghost-whisperer or mediator, although there was a period of time that me and Simon regularly tuned in to Ghostbusters.

"What?" she snapped irritably. I ignored her, she was blocking the fruit bowl and I was done with studying her now, I wanted an apple. As I reached for the apple, I detected something in her eyes, fear, real fear; I bit the inside of my cheek, not showing any acknowledgement of her embarrassed apology or her hurried dart out of the way. Two apples, I was really hungry.

"So what happened last night?" I tried to say as casually as I could, I felt on edge about Liz. Who transfers a teenage girl in the middle of the night? Couldn't they have waited till morning?

"Hap-p-p-p-p," I clenched my fist almost crushing the apple as I impatiently waited for her to get the polysyllabic word out.

"Slow down," my patience ran out. She was already scared of me; I didn't think it mattered if she thought I was rude.

Simon exited the pantry, tearing open a box of granola bars. He knew he shouldn't be eating that, as a diabetic having the right amount of sugar intake was critical, it wasn't that hard to obey rules. At least not ones that keep you alive. "Have an apple. That's not –"

"I'm good bro," he said significantly, signalling that he didn't want Chloe to know he was diabetic. My lips quirked disdainfully, Liz would have called that sweet. I call it stupid, like she's going to find you less attractive because you don't wolf down pizzas like me – pun intended.

He somersaulted a bar to me and offered the torn packet for Chloe; she took two, with thanks, and turned to leave. Simon's face fell, "Might help if you talk about it," he unwrapped his granola bar eyes on the floor, letting me know that he wasn't going to push if she showed unwilling. I scrutinised her, she didn't seem the forthcoming type, I bit into my apple awaiting her reply, any reply.

"Well?" I prompted, hiding my concern. Liz could be anywhere; if I knew her whereabouts maybe I could incorporate her into Simon's escape plan.

"Rae's waiting for me," Simon looked up, up until then I think he thoroughly believed that Liz had just had another episode, but Chloe's coyness triggered his concern, he went to stop her but I held him back with a look. Not now, she wasn't ready. I had no doubts that if it was just Simon there she would have spilled all the harrowing details and this made me grit my teeth, I didn't have time to work around their developing crush. Did no one else get that we were on a time limit?

The door swung shut behind her," Something happened," Simon assessed me.

"Yeah . . .we need to find out what it was, maybe Chloe got found by another ghost," I said appealing to his protective instincts.

"I don't know, we shouldn't push her . . .if that was me I would have reported you to the authorities, you can't just expect her to believe it just because you said it. She doesn't know you from Adam." I looked at him for a long time, "Err, no way, I am not getting involved."

Peter had left. Liz and Peter gone never coming back. Two in a day, that must be a new Lyle House record. I took an extra helping of frosting-free carrot cake to my room, nothing like a snack to help conjugate Latin verbs.


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

Lunch was over and relatively uneventful, for once my concentration was drawn away from just mindlessly shovelling down profuse amounts of food and I tried instead to clandestinely watch Chloe. Harder than I thought, since every time my green eyes landed on her she stiffened in response, immediately I looked away, so conscious of not wanting to scare her. She doesn't even know me and already she can tell of my capacity for harm. Ms Wang came afterward and directed me to do my work on the dining table instead of my room.

I spread out my books, tapping my ruler against the hard smooth wood as I endeavoured to give attention to the rows of sums before me. My gaze wondered to the window, it was a nice, bright day, before coming here Simon and I would have probably gone to the park and he would give me lessons on the offside rule. I longed for the feel of grass beneath my feet or paws as the dreams kept telling me. Chloe was beginning to infuriate me, rather than aiding my plans as I thought beforehand, she was instead being an encumbrance. Simon wanted to stay thanks to her and this significantly postponed the escape. There must be a way to turn it all around. All I needed was for her to admit that she was seeing ghosts; there was no time to beat around the bush. My skull throbbed beneath the surface as my thoughts conjectured again to Liz's location.

My eyes suddenly felt heavy with fatigue, despite the severe lack of exercise I have been getting. It felt like my body no longer ran on the natural energy emitted by food and REM sleep but on some nervous chemical like cortisol released by glands, this much pressure wasn't good for anybody. I wanted to just ask one of the staff what had happened, but that would only succeed in putting up their guard, they were already distrustful of me. I abhorred all this tiptoeing around – Chloe, Talbot, Van Dop, Dr Gill, even Simon in some cases – I knew what I was doing was necessary, so why can't people just listen to me? _Snap_, the thirty centimetre ruler cracked in half, one half skidding across to the other end of the table. Shit. I could hear footsteps and hurriedly tipped the table so the broken ruler dropped lost on the floor. Get it together Derek.

Ms Wang entered, her shiny black hair hung like curtains on either side of her flat, sleek feline face. It wasn't right, but I blamed her after Chloe for Liz's departure, if Wang had just let her alone about maths then Liz wouldn't have been so on edge about her powers (I don't believe in poltergeists). Who the fuck needs Maths anyway, except architects and engineers? I am great at the subject and even I admit that in this age it is perfectly useless. "Derek, you need to concentrate, you haven't even done a single quadratic equation," her deceptively slippery voice held a trace of exasperation. She hated her job and us even more, but she wasn't afraid of me. I don't think she realised that I was a rude, arrogant, extremely pissed-ff werewolf in the making, but I wasn't going to correct her.

I systematically worked through the first page wanting her to leave before I told her exactly what I thought of her. In short something along the lines of, snot-nosed, ignorant, avaricious bitch with too much black in her wardrobe and chemically straightened hair. She left.

Only then did I realise I didn't actually want to be alone, I chewed the end of my pen pensively. I had read somewhere that this bad habit meant that you were sexually repressed, for me I was just hungry. Again. And worried, this would be so much more easily handled if Dad was around, he might have been slightly goofy but he gave stellar advice. I could really do with some advice and maybe Chinese takeout.

Slowly folding my lined scribbled-on sheet, more for something to do than out of requirement, I leaned on the hind legs of the chair, an act that enrages almost all teachers. Like they actually care whether or not I break my neck, they just don't want to deal with the paperwork. Bastards. I heard a faint muttering coming from the media room. Chloe, of course, she didn't have the pleasure of maths lessons yet. I was going to leave her alone due to her ordeal last night but then thought better of it. Similar to guys who prey on emotionally vulnerable girls who just exited a long-term relationship, I was fully ready to take advantage of whatever state Chloe was in. In the long run it would help all of us if I could persuade her to see sense. Plus, Liz was gone, so no matter what Chloe had fared last night, Liz had obviously gone through much worse.

The media room wasn't far; I deserted my books and entered the open door. Now, I wasn't creeping or snooping, I just happen to be a silent walker unless, as Simon adores pointing out, I'm fuming. So it wasn't my fault that she didn't see me and that I could clearly see what webpage she was on. A local newspaper's site of some sort, that wasn't what interested me, the title was of much more value. TRAGIC ACCIDENT AT A.R. GURNEY HIGH. No words, just a picture of a middle-aged man in a school janitorial uniform, powder blue in colour. He looked tired and bored, struggling to keep awake in the photograph, but more importantly he looked alive.

This made sense, 'tragic accident' in a high school, she must have had an altercation with the ghost of the janitor. I didn't know much about ghosts, but I assumed like in _Sixth Sense_ that he would bare some remnant of his death, possibly something like a knife protruding from his stomach, something to scare the living daylights out of a sheltered schoolgirl that would land aforementioned girl in a place like Lyle House.

"Is that who you saw?"

She whirled around, her face contorting into an unwelcome grimace that fully communicated her feelings towards me. Tough shit, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be the werewolf that never gave up. I pointed to the headline of the article, deciding to rephrase. "A.R. Gurney. That's your school. You saw that guy, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," her chin raised defiantly. Really? Are we really going to play this game? I fought the urge to roll my eyes, if she was going to protest, she should at least come up with an excuse. "I was doing schoolwork. For when I got back. A project." I apologise, a better excuse, my lips fought and won against an upcoming smile. Bad liar, really bad liar.

"On what? People who died at my school. You know, I heard art schools were weird . . .," I think the irrationality of her explanation hit her then, it just wouldn't happen.

"Weird?" she retorted with indignation.

I did roll my eyes then, I was sick of connecting the dots for everybody else. "You want something to research?" I leaned over to type into the search engine spying her furtive attempt to move away. Damn puberty, people are much more open to your views if you smell nice, I glowered at her, then adjusted into a different position so she wouldn't be able to smell me. I opened a new tab and typed in necromancer then straightened. "Try that. Maybe you'll learn something."

My work here was done.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

"When will Dr Gill be ready to see me?" I enquired, enjoying the panic in Talbot's eyes more than I probably should; it's a bad day when the sullen werewolf deigns to speak to you. I think they all secretly deduce that I'm a cannibal only that would explain why they all treat me like a leper, given my history I would say that was surprisingly sagacious of them. Better to be safe than sorry, a human's aptitude for self-preservation is innate; subconsciously everyone knows I am different to them, a predator, or as Dr Gill terms it 'a threat to society'. Although there logic is slightly skewed, if I was a cannibal, as if I would waste my time with the plump Mrs Talbot when I could snack on Rae.

"Soon, Derek, soon," she moves to pat me but then wisely thinks better of it, rushing away, her patronising tone grates. I move slyly back to the media room: Chloe's gone. I think of approaching the computer, doing a quick scan of the history and see whether she chickened out or not. I only get as far as pressing the control and H simultaneously when Ms Wang beckons me into the classroom.

Maths is over, time for me and Simon to do some nonsensical paper on Shakespeare.

I trudge into the room; averting my eyes from Chloe, not yet ready to see her reaction, it's better to hope. I take my regular seat beside Simon, whose tattered cop of 'Romeo and Juliet' is open at a random page; his dark eyes examine the page seemingly engrossed. "That interesting?" I raise an eyebrow.

He jumps; the paperback play rising a few inches with him, from the movement not an incantation, Simon can't do a spell without saying the spell which takes the glory away from his ability, often we don't have time to wait around so he can experiment with a range of Greek words. "Jesus, Derek, could you be any quieter?"

I tapped the cover showing a young couple embracing, "I didn't want to disturb you, you looked positively captivated," I grin to show I'm joking; some of the tension has left me. After a whole morning of obsessing over Liz and Dad and escaping and Chloe's unacknowledged necromancy, I have finally rationalised and prioritised my thoughts. Deal with one problem at a time, Liz is outside of my control, Simon and Chloe are right here, literally, I can see her straining ears and hear her lowered breath as she tries to overhear ma and Simon. Worried about me spilling her defects to Simon, I guess although I don't understand. I would rather be a necromancer than a schizophrenic, just saying.

"You're kidding, right?" Simon slapped the thin book shut, "I have absolutely no fucking clue what they are saying," he slouched in his chair looking annoyed, whispering so Ms Wang doesn't chastise him for swearing or insulting Shakespeare. "English is the only subject where I actually consider stabbing the point of a compass right through my eye, though it wasn't this bad in the other schools."

"Wow, those are some dark thought," I slide his book over to me and flick through the pages, "I advise you not to though, or if you do don't use a blunt compass, they hurt like a bitch, though you wouldn't think it, would you?"

"Once again I find myself fearing for your sanity," Simon mocked, eyes palpably more optimistic. He preferred it when I wasn't on at him about getting out of here. I know he was disinclined to leave me but I hardly need babysitting, I had given him the lecture about utilitarianism an incalculable amount of times, but it looked like Simon didn't give a shit about the greater good, his concern was for me. Any other time that would have been flattering, at present I was purely aggrieved.

"That may be so, but at least I can understand this drivel," I waggled the flapping book under his nose, "Do you want me to give you the synopsis?"

He leaned forward, "I get the general gist: boy meets girl, they get married and die. Ever the cheerful one: Shakespeare." I smile, feeling culpable at Simon's answering relieved countenance, I hadn't noticed how worried my inconsistent behaviour rendered him.

"Basically," I cast my mind back to a few years ago when the teachers at a loss what to do with me gave me a compilation of Shakespeare's work, "Romeo is say seventeen and he loves Rosaline, she gets married to someone else and fickle idiot that he is, Romeo goes to a party and falls in love with Juliet at first sight," I rolled my eyes, Simon laughed as I continued to give my rendition of the tragedy.

"You're so cynical," he sniggered.

"It took four days, four measly days to fall in love, kill her cousin, get banished, married and consummate their marriage and ultimately die." My scepticism was plain on my face.

"How did it go with Chloe," he snuck a look and I shrugged.

I had a plan. Later, after dinner with a virtually lifeless Tori, an unexpected yet completely welcome change, I slipped a note under Chloe's door.

_Chloe, _

_ We need to talk. Meet me in the laundry room at 7 15._

_ Simon_

I don't know what I expected to see, coming down the stairs, Chloe was already there before the given time, simply wandering, blue eyes curious. I stood behind her, planning to say something that would make her less frightened of me but she whirled around and started before I had the opportunity.

"You always this jumpy?" she looked like she had seen a ghost, I refrained from smiling.

"Wh-where did you come from?" her tone was a little offensive; I could have told her that I had absolutely no clue who my parents were and no inkling to discover them. My father was a werewolf and my mother was dumb enough to get knocked up by one, presumably without knowing. Not exactly a winning combination, but I inferred that that wasn't what she meant.

"Upstairs." I wondered how long it would take her to add two and two together to come up with four, metaphorically speaking, I was sure she could do simple maths, kind of.

"I'm waiting for some –"she paused taking in my no doubt smug expression. "It's you, isn't it? You had Simon send –"

"Simon didn't send anything." He didn't even know I was here. "I knew you wouldn't come for me. But Simon?" I made a point of checking the time," For Simon, you're early. So did you look it up?"

Understanding dawned on her face, "You mean that word? _Nec – Necromancer? _Is that how you say it?"

Like I care. I leant against the wall giving her more space, trying not to look to eager, this was important I absolutely could not screw this up. It had to be handled delicately, preferably with Simon's finesse with male – female interactions. I would settle for her not screaming. My fingers flexed twitching with nerves and too little muscle stimulation. "Did you look it up?"

"I did. And, well, I don't quite know what to say." Her answer was coy, deliberately ambiguous, not giving anything away. it was infuriating. I forced myself to stay still, rubbing my trembling fingers against the rough pockets of my jeans, hoping the friction would keep them still.

"Okay. So, you searched for it and . . .," I trailed off, leaving her to fill in the blank, surely she could give me that at least, I didn't want to press her too hard. Half of me was surprised she even bothered sticking around after she realised Simon wasn't going to show.

"It wasn't what I expected." I waited for an elaboration, the passage of time excruciating.

"So . . ." I prompted.

"Well I have to admit . . .," she took a long inhalation of breath, unnecessary as far as I could tell; "I'm not really that into computer games." What in the name of hell is she babbling about? I studied her carefully, maybe she was really off her rocker and I had made a big mistake. Was I waiting around for precisely nothing? Just letting Simon get deeper infatuated with a "cute" schizophrenic so he would have even more incentive to _not _go search for Dad. She didn't look barmy, perhaps I was being too rash.

"Computer games?"

"Video games? RPG's? I've played some but not the kind you're talking about." Good to know. I gazed at her warily, weighing up Rae's potential as a damsel in distress. Unfortunately, pyromaniac just didn't have the same effect as schizophrenic, plus Rae was street-smart, she could look after herself. She didn't appear as fragile as Chloe. And Tori was out of the question. "But if you guys are into them, I'm certainly willing to give them a shot," a bright smile beamed at me, suspiciously fake.

"Them?"

"The games. Role playing, right? But I don't think the necromancer is for me, though I do appreciate the suggestion."

"Suggestion . . ." I am well and truly lost, could she have gone on a completely unrelated link. Did she not have the good sense to check out all of them to at least look for a fucking definition? Do I have to do everything for everyone?

"That I play the necromancer? That's why you had me look it up, right?"

For crying out loud . . . "No, I didn't mean –"

"I suppose it could be cool, playing a character that could raise the dead, but it's not really me. A little too dark. Too emo, you know? I'd rather play a magician."

"I wasn't –"she cut me off again as I worried for her sanity. Do I look like the type of guy that recommends video games? Did she have me confused with Peter? I obviously needed a makeover more urgently than Tori had ever hinted.

"So I don't have to be a necromancer? Thanks, I really do appreciate you taking the time out to make me feel so welcome. It's _so_ sweet." A saccharine smile stretched her pink lips, the cheesy grin you see on cereal adverts. She was having me on. Seriously, me. Huh. Maybe she was an aspiring actress in that art school of hers.

"I wasn't inviting you to a game, Chloe," my expression darkened. I don't have time for this shit.

"No," her butterfly blue eyes widened innocently. I don't know if it is due to Liz but I believe I am beginning to get obsessed with the colour blue. I see it everywhere. "Then why would you send me to those sites about necromancers? Show me pictures of madmen raising armies of rotting zombies?" Jeesh, does she have to make it sound all so appealing? "Is that how you get your kicks, Derek? Scaring the new kids? Well, you've had your fun, and if you corner me again or lure me into the basement –"

"Lure you? I was trying to talk to you." Honestly, you try to help someone and this is the gratitude they give you. I'm not some predator that wants to hurt her or trick her. I'm just helping her help me . . . and Simon. If I told her maybe she'd show willing, why wouldn't she want to help Simon?

"No," she protested for the first time meeting my eyes. "You were trying to scare me. Do it again and I'll tell the nurses." That spoilt little princess threatened me, the worse she had ever had to cope with is probably not getting enough allowance to go bloody bowling with her friends. Tattle-tale, I was tempted to say, a term I had never had the chance to use, back in the institution if one of the other werewolves took you spot in the sandpit, you didn't tell the aloof staff: you battled it out. The first and only time I got into a scrap, the little bastard nearly bit half my thumb off. An important lesson learned, keep to yourself.

I was fed up with creeping around other people and their demands. What about what I want? Her Dad is in some penthouse watching the news with his dinner in front of him, probably prepared by an in-house chef. Where's mine? I felt so angry, enraged even, she was fucking everything up and for what. So she could swallow her medication and pretend nothing's happened, that she's a completely normal human being and her life will return exactly the same. Well, denial isn't nearly so effective when you're a werewolf, it's a condition that's hard to deny.

She sensed my temper flaring and bolted to the stairs, obviously noticing that she had succeeded in thoroughly pissing me off. I grabbed for her, fingers wrapping around her forearm, I still had a few things to say, possibly a few insults but I wasn't done. She needed to _see_. She wailed at the contact, agony reshaping the features of her face, abruptly I let go. I didn't grab her that hard. Oh, Derek, you asshole, what were you doing grabbing her in the first place? The image of the boy sailing in the air, back shattering against the brick wall, swam in front of my eyes. All my doing.

Chloe was in a heap on the floor, in letting her go I hurt her further. If she looked fragile before, now she looked as insubstantial as a spectre, cradling her arm, hot, wet tears blinking in her shining eyes. She looked like a little girl. Oh God, oh God, what have I done? She looked in a state of shock, you and me both, I thought. This is probably the nearest she ever came to being intentionally hurt, I cautiously stepped closer. She nearly fell again in an effort to get to her feet and as far away from me as possible. "Chloe, I –," she staggered back, fearful eyes watching me, on the verge of sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. I didn't mean -. Are you okay?" my lips shook making it difficult to shape the words.

She ran, and for the second time in my life, I felt in my core that I was a monster. An abomination. I shouldn't be here.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks for all the reviews, guys, really appreciate it. Pretty, pretty please review some more, even if it is totally mundane or even horrid. Just be honest, any suggestions are welcome. Besides, how do I know you're reading unless you review? I'll try and update again tomorrow, but I have a wedding to get to, not mine –heh heh – so it's likely to be Monday the next time I update. Enjoy! And review, if i don't get more than a hundred in two days I won't write anymore. Just kidding, hope you like it.**

**Fourteen **

I hung around for a while, gutlessly, feeling like my brains were going to spill out of my skull. I've never cried, not once in my entire life. Being yelled at, scorned and derided by my teachers and peers, kicked and pounded by fellow cubs in that laboratory; avoided by strangers in the street; mocked, it doesn't matter I always endured in silence. I don't need a lot, I had Simon and Dad, they knew the real me, or at least so I thought, perhaps it's the other way round, they have been the ones that have been deluded and wrong this entire time. The people I've never met before know me better than I know myself; know what I'm capable of.

It doesn't mean I didn't want to though, I've always been contemptuous of tears, just useless moisture spilling from the eyes. Don't change anything, certainly don't fix anything. For the first time in my life I actually felt them threaten, my eyes stung and I lay confounded against the wall. What have I done? I thought I was better now, that time would change me, but a leopard never changes its spots.

Simon was on his bed, carefree and sketching again. Any other time I would have been ecstatic, this marked the beginning, but now I barely took notice. "Derek?" he trusts me, you can see that, whatever happens: Derek will fix it. I'm the one with the brains not that Simon's dumb, just easily distracted, he leads a well-balanced life whereas mine consists perpetually of too much of something. Now it's fret. Dad always preached about the benefits of moderation, I'm afraid that's not in my vocabulary.

"I fucked up," my voice cracks, tremors, my head falls onto the bed, bouncing on impact. I smooth my cool hands over my forehead, trying to keep everything in perspective.

"How?" sketch forgotten, he scrambles to the edge of his bed, "What do you mean?" I can feel his distressed eyes gauge me; he's too motionless to be doing anything else. I'm scared he'll see too much and I hide my face behind my arm. I don't want to let him down.

"I was talking to Chloe and . . ." he perks up at the meagre mention of her name. _Chlo-e_, such a simple, popular, first name, I bet there are more Chloes than Dereks. It means green or green shoot, something to do with the fertility goddess Demeter, another relic of Ancient Greece. My name means "people's ruler", one can only hope. "I messed up," I say, he's dying for me to say more, it's too vague to base an opinion on. I know Simon, he's loyal to the bone, he will always take my side over Chloe's, and he claims I'm just misunderstood, but even he would find it hard to legitimate this. "Fuck," my voice quavers again.

"So fix it," he responds so simply.

I shake my head, "Can't, you don't understand."

"You're right, I don't. One second, I can't find you and the next you come upstairs freaking the fuck out because of something to do with Chloe. What were you doing talking to her anyway? I thought we agreed to leave well alone, let her come to the conclusion herself, don't scare her," censure colours his tone, voice rising though he stays seated. Why can't I be mad in the same reserved, peaceable way?

No, I erupt. Second rage of the night, I honestly think that Dr Gill might as well be furniture for all the good she's doing me. I'm deteriorating not improving. Bitch. "Like we've got all the time in the fucking universe! Where do you think Dad is, Simon? You think he let us get taken by children services because he needed some groceries? That he's sipping god damn mojitos in Belize?" I can tell I struck a nerve.

"Don't take it out on me just because you couldn't handle a simple conversation." He scowls, brotherly affection gone.

"Well, I wouldn't have had to if you would have got up off your sorry ass and talked to her instead. But no, Simon can't possibly be the bearer of bad news," I retort, childishly, still facing the ceiling, blood boiling in my veins, perhaps I should invest in a punch bag.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what, it's your pathological need to be the good guy the entire time, God forbid telling her she's not crazy, but in fact has inherited the genes that allow her to see ghosts, should thwart your chances of getting into her pants," my enhanced hearing has rendered me sensitive so my insults arrive in a loud whisper, which I've heard can be more daunting than being deafened with my roar. "Do you ever think of anything other than your dick? I'm sick of having to do everything!"

"Then fucking don't! No one is forcing you to single-handedly right all the wrongs of the world. You're not Buffalo's answer to Batman, I'm not going so all this planning and furtive strategising is pointless. I'm. Not. Going." He punctuated the triad of words with a stab in the air.

"I don't care if I have to toss you off the roof, you're gone," I utter coldly, too quiet for him to hear. Still mad, too mad. Mad at him, at Chloe, at Dad, but mostly at me.

"Don't act like I don't care, I want to find him to –"

"And you're doing, specifically, what exactly?" I raise my eyebrows; the rhetorical question had more of an impact than any harmful words would have done.

His fists clench as he struggles against the urge to hit me. That's not the first time he's felt like that, I'm a galling, supremely bossy companion. You don't know the meaning of the phrase 'it's my way or the highway' until you've met me. Each time though he never does, he can never summon the requisite mood to actually strike me. Maybe it's because he knows I can hurt him much worse, though I doubt it, he knows if he `did hit me, and no doubt I would have deserved it, I wouldn't touch him. "Fuck you, Derek, fuck you." He slams the door behind him as he stamps into the hallway. Tomorrow's going to be tense.


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

Needless to say, I couldn't get to sleep. Not that it's of great concern, nine o' clock is when the lights are out and an hour after the no-talking rule is implemented, in our case, predictably, it wasn't needed: Simon was staunchly silent, I could feel the draft coming from his shoulder. Although, it wasn't light outside my eyes still refused to rest, I felt agitated long after the nurses hit the hay and went to sleep too.

Peculiarly, I had the weirdest sensation of someone or something stroking my head in an oddly soothing gesture, like you would stroke an anxious baby after they had been roused from a nap. It was so comforting, I soon relaxed, convinced that it was just my imagination as I couldn't see anything there. Eventually I conked completely out, only to be woken by Simon's inconveniently strident snores. I blinked blearily trying to get my bearings, the room was pitch black as I waited for my night vision to kick in, everything was eerily calm and soundless which meant that the normally undetected sound of creeping after midnight transformed into blaring, obvious movements that sounded like crashing cymbals.

I knew who it was instantly, Chloe wasn't as dim-witted as I imagined, what I didn't know was what I should do about it. I weighed up several courses of action, the dominant one being just leave them to it, after all, hadn't I done enough already? But then, I owed it to us, to me and Simon as well as Dad, to monitor the situation, I hadn't thought of any of this before, too horrified about what I'd done. What if she told the nurses or Dr Gill? I'd be transferred, Simon would be bound to move with me, but there was no guarantee we would be kept together. I could go anywhere, like Liz, just erased and never thought of again. A tiny, tiny part of me considered the benefits, but ultimately it would result in less freedom than I have now.

I put on some clothes, baggy as usual and ruffled the bed up a bit so Simon wouldn't go investigating if he thought I was there under the lump. The door clicked quietly, the only sound I made as I slowly went down the stairs. The penultimate step is the one that always creaks, however there was a knack to it that I couldn't get quite right, so I attempted to overstep the steep step and ended up stumbling onto the floor, the step creaking anyway. I paused waiting for a reaction, but I couldn't hear one.

The kitchen door was ajar, puzzled I crept towards it for a closer look and went inside. Light came from inside the pantry but I disregarded that, drawing my attention to any other telltale signs. It looked like an ordinary kitchen raid, too ordinary, I knew better from personal experience. When you raid as often as I have, you are so aware of the all-consuming hunger that you forget to shut cupboard doors and tidy away wrappers and crumbs, you wait until you've finished the feast. I could see everything clearly, the bright moon unnecessary. I swivelled to the pantry door, they were obviously inside, earlier I heard the _whoosh _of the photocopier so she could deny it all she wanted but I knew what she had been doing.

"Cracker?" Chloe emerged, holding up the box, Rae in her wake. The likeliest ally, though I have no idea what I've ever done to her, perhaps Simon's apathy had an effect on her. My gaze swept back to Chloe whose innocent eyes were wide and guileless, overplayed and suppliant for me to believe her. It took longer than it should have done for the panic to flare as she re-enacted the scene from earlier in her head. Guilt assailed me all over again, she was so small, no more than five foot, she looked like she could still fit in kid's clothes. It was a miracle she was able to walk away. _Others weren't so lucky . . ._ my annoying inner-voice reminded me. She must have been thinking the same thing, if she'd read my file yet; I'd held her hard enough to bruise. Her smile dropped from her face as she shoved the cracker box into my stomach with clumsy hands.

"We were getting a snack," Rae announced senselessly. Had she always been so intolerable? "I'll get the juice," she fudged, edging past and trying to give me a wide berth at the same time. I knew she hadn't imparted the incident to Rae, she was acting very uncertainly, distrustful but without concrete evidence otherwise she would have been the first to tell the nurses.

Boxes were scattered on the counter, apparent proof of their raid, _smart_ I allowed grudgingly. She was wearier than ever of me now and I wanted to say something, anything, maybe an apology or an explanation. _I didn't mean it, Chloe, can't we all just get along, I'll put in a good word for you with Simon_. Somehow, I doubted it would qualify. She stepped forward; still sensitive towards my presence as I wracked my brains for something to put her at ease, I could have told her I'd leave her alone, that I wouldn't talk, look or be in the same room as her, but I couldn't seem to get the words out. That would be my only hope of ever getting Simon out of her down the drain, because of me and I couldn't let that happen. It was out of the question.

I stepped aside, hearing her breathing and heart rate return to normal, perhaps if I gave her some space she would see that I wished her no harm, I lost control for a split second, a second that Dr Gill's endless techniques were alleged to stop happening in the first place. _Don't blame me, blame her. _

"Forgot these," I pushed the crackers under her nose, the change in proximity immediately making her tense up again.

"Right. Thanks." Neither of them wasted anytime, both racing back to their room more from fear of me and what I would do than fear of discovery, like I was going to tell when this was all of my own doing. I waited until they'd left before entering Dr Gill's room, I'd already read Chloe's file but now I wanted a copy just in case I missed anything. It didn't contain much more than the information I had already gained from Simon.

Back in the room I took out the three freshly copied pages that I wanted, still warm from the copier, I read them by the window. The standard background check; life history; parents; school records and the incident, as well as her diagnosis: schizophrenia. One of life's incurable mental illnesses that are linked with low levels of dopamine which are said to play a role in the negative symptoms of schizophrenia such as lack of emotion, speech and social interaction. Huh, maybe I'm schizophrenic. I read the page about her diagnosis.

Chloe shows no signs of these negative symptoms, the only symptoms expresses are the positive kind of hallucinations, both visual and auditory. Her treatment is ongoing and she appears to be improving steadily.

I bloody bet she is.

As far as our tests show her speech impediment is unrelated to her condition and there are no records of schizophrenia in her bloodline, both paternal and maternal.

Well, if they were testing for necromancy that would be pure and utter bullshit. All supernatural powers are inherited, apart from my particular power in which you can also "change" another. My guess was that it was her mother who had the gene; she had died before Chloe had properly grown up, and her father was most likely unaware.

I got back into bed, mind turning over all of today's events. If only, something would happen that would hinder all the 'progress' she has been making.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

I couldn't sleep, not properly; exhaustion dictated intermittent bouts of shut-eye, my conflicting thoughts rousing me before I could succumb to a deep sleep. My dreams were an assortment of faces: they guy I had essentially crippled, his expression slack as he lay in a heap beside the brick wall; Chloe, eyes wide with fear, pale lips grimaced in pain; Simon and Dad, censure and betrayal gleaming from their matching eyes; Dr Gill with her glasses sliding down her nose, clinically appraising me; and last of all Liz, her face was a blank canvas. I had no idea what she would make of recent events, surely she would shun me from her society, our dalliance was ephemeral to say the least.

The morning was fine. No Chloe. Simon didn't initiate any conversation but he desisted from glaring at me from across the table after I was on my second bowl of cereal. Rice Krispies doused in skim-milk, of course. I took my books and worked on the dining table, moving to our room when Rae sat herself down there too, glaring at me all the while. Again, what have I ever done to her? I resisted the urge to bare my teeth and growl at her, give her something to really be afraid of, but I thought better of it. No point, gaining more attention to myself.

"You hungry?" Simon mumbled we crossed paths on the stairs; he paused, shuffling his feet, the toe of his trainers making invisible patterns on the brown carpeted step. He wouldn't look at me. "Stupid question," he muttered, gaze averted from mine, now following the span of the walls. I felt for him, he was obviously still angry, but that's the dilemma living here, however temporarily, all we have is each other. No one else. If we weren't getting on, then everything ceased to be important, it all just came to a stop and we would most likely be stuck here for years. He seemed to reach the same conclusion as he looked directly at me, "Sorry," he said through twisted lips.

"Mmmm," I reciprocated, as much as my nature would allow me.

"Do you want me to grab you something?" he asked as if the question was of great importance. That was Simon, he couldn't just apologise and be done with it, he had to extend a gesture or complete a favour that would prove his sincerity. No matter what I had said – and I had said some pretty dreadful things – Simon would take it upon himself to shoulder all the blame, he constantly believed he was in the wrong. "An apple, cracker, cereal bar?"

I made a face, "Maybe later, I've got some work to do," I tapped the glossy cover of my textbook by way of explanation and offered him a small smile to show the situation could officially return back to normal. He slapped me on the back and skipped down the stairs, literally, that was the degree of his relief. I could keep up the silent treatment for as long as I want, although Simon's stubborn, he hates tension between us, especially here. Even back at home, we wouldn't go more than two days without speaking to each other, here that amount of time was out of the question, it wasn't pragmatic and it felt like a lifetime.

"Wait," he called looking up from the bottom of the stairs, "Have you seen Chloe? She's not in the media room, is everything okay?" worry reflected from his brown eyes. He hadn't asked the nurses, because he trusted me to find out the real story. He really liked her. Inwardly, I shivered, Simon never condones violence but he didn't penalise me for what happened on that basketball that fateful, hateful day, but if he discovered what happened between me and Chloe, _what I did to her_, I had the unpleasant feeling that he would lose his rag. Scaring off a potential girlfriend was not in the How to Be a Good Brother guidebook for a reason.

"I'm pretty sure I overheard Talbot tell Rae that she grabbed breakfast away from here with her Aunt. She left early, I think," I studiously kept my face blank, although there was a riot of nerves twisting about almost painfully in my stomach. Not telling Rae and not telling her Aunt were two entirely different matters. Her Aunt judging from her file fulfilled the role of a mother and how many girls would keep the news of threatening boys that hurl you to the other side of the room away from their mothers? I've never had a Mom, but my guess is that not a lot, just like Simon, he hardly ever keeps anything from Dad; usually parents/guardians have that inconvenient and excruciatingly annoying way of just guessing. I hope her Aunt Lauren isn't that in tune with her niece, doctors are busy people after all.

"Oh, okay," disappointment clouded his face.

"She'll be back soon," I glanced at the clock, nearly half past eleven, maybe Simon could get her onside. Finally, he was making himself useful.

A few minutes later, Simon returned to our room in an agitated state, tossing a bag of prawn cracker hidden behind the breadbin in my direction. "Prawn crackers, a rare discovery. You didn't happen to find any roast chicken or something behind the microwave, did you?" I enquired, only half joking.

He grinned distractedly, running his fingers over the spiral wire in his sketchbook, "Tori's back to her usual self, I wonder how she became such a bitch . . . actually no I don't, I'd rather she just left me the hell alone," he amended, leaning against his desk.

"Bitches rarely fall out of thin air, they're usually created," Simon gave me a blank look; "Put it this way, I bet her Mom isn't exactly a barrel of laughs. Not that I'm excusing her behaviour or anything, God forbid."

"So you shouldn't, nothing can excuse acting like that," Like nothing could excuse my behaviour either. Dear sweet heaven, was I actually identifying with Victoria Enright? God, I implore you: shoot me now. Low point, Derek, very low point. Well, at least now it was confirmed that things could only get better. "I can't imagine how Liz put up with her so long."

Neither can I, but then we all have our crosses to bear, case in point: I'm a werewolf.

I crunched through the packet eagerly but it only succeeded in making me more aware of the gnawing empty hole in my stomach, I hopped up, "Need food," I said emphatically. Simon sighed, shaking his head and we walked companionably out of the room, about to pass the hall to get to the kitchen when we walked upon the ruckus.

"Rae burned me. She has matches or something." Tori's familiar whine made us both roll her eyes; Simon looked like he wanted to crawl into the cellar where he could forget she existed. "Look, look . . ." she pulled down the collar of her tee-shirt. Such a drama queen.

"Leave your clothes on Tori," Simon protested, covering his eyes like he couldn't bear the sight, "Please," he added. I laughed earning a curious look from Chloe. Simon waved to her while Ms Wang tried to get Tori to see sense. Of course, nothing's ever that simple with her.

"She burned me! I felt it! She's hiding matches again. Search her. _Do _something."

"How about you do something Tori," he said as we swept past them, I was still very intent on finding some roast chicken, "Like get a life." This only made Tori angrier, she lunged for Rae and I had to check the impulse to cheer her on, that wouldn't help anybody.

I gave Simon a measured, suspicious glance when we were in the kitchen and I immediately began to ransack cupboards. "What?" he said defensively, he was very jumpy.

"If I didn't know better, I would say that you were taking this alternative, much more direct approach to Tori's unwanted attentions as a result of the desire to show _someone_ in no uncertain terms that you are absolutely not interested in Tori at all, in fact you can't stand her. What do you think about that?" I beseeched him.

He propped an elbow on the counter, taking a plain biscuit form the tin and munching innocently, he brushed the crumbs of his chin and said calmly, "It's a good job you know me better, then, isn't it?"

I stayed silent, is that how he's going to play it? For months he had just ignored Tori, occasionally hinted at his utter disinterest, always maintaining the polite tone that people become accustomed to from Simon. _I _was the one who told her she didn't have a single chance in hell, and now all of a sudden Simon was using the methods favoured by the bitches he ridiculed. Just so Chloe knew he was available?

"Derek, Dr Gill wants to see you," Talbot popped her head through the door, a frown fixed on her face, gaze on my forehead. "Now." The door slammed shut behind her with a resounding bang. Holy shit. Simon whirled to me, confusion and concern flaring in his eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

Seventeen

For once, Dr Gill wasn't seated on her plush, ugly brown chair, instead she had opted to pace for optimum effect, although why she believes I would find a barely five foot two, rodent resembling creature intimidating is beyond me. "What the hell did you think you were doing, Derek?" _Making conversation_. Her hands are firmly attached to her hips, low heeled shoes, tapping, tapping, tapping. Will she ever stop. "I thought we were making progress, Derek," _Why does she keep saying my name, this isn't a Destiny's Child song?_ "I _thought_ you genuinely wanted to get better, put all that unpleasant business behind you," she sighed heavily, shaking her head, "You were doing so well," _Bullshit_. "And now this . . . I just don't know what you're playing at." Her eyes bored into mine, scouring for remorse, she wasn't going to get any.

That took for-fucking-ever. I shut the door behind me so relieved I could have prayed, at least until I spotted Chloe looking like she would rather be standing anywhere than where she was now. The look on her face said she knew what went on in there, what did she expect: her Aunt to just let it go? _Oh, Chloe stop being melodramatic, I'm sure the sweet, charming boy who was so polite to me this morning, didn't mean to hurt you and so what he left perceptible bruises on your arm, that doesn't mean he's homicidal. He's obviously just misunderstood._ I sincerely doubt it.

"Hi," I said, just as Simon left the bathroom after injecting his insulin.

"Whoops, guess I'm hogging the bathroom again. Causing lines," he shoved his insulin syringe in his back pocket as soon as he saw her. Simon was one of those guys who were very focused on what was cool and uncool. Apparently diabetes was not cool, but looking like a heroin addict every time you thrust a used needle in your back pocket, looking all cagey is considered perfectly fine.

"Just Chloe." I opened the door for her, desperately wanting to be away from everybody.

"Hey, lunch is this way," Simon eyed me alerted by my unusual courteous behaviour. All because I don't make a habit of opening doors for people.

"Start, without me. I gotta get something from our room."

"Hold up," Simon followed. Oh, shit.

Up, in our room, Simon sat on the chair, swivelled with a flourish and then said with a grave expression, "So what went down?"

. . . . . . . . . . .

After telling him an edited but still truthful version of what had occurred - I didn't shirk any of my wrongdoings – we ate and then Simon went off, looking for Chloe, I thought. Sure enough, I spied them talking in the garden, quite a heated conversation, they looked like they were arguing and as I neared those suspicions were confirmed.

"So that makes it okay? If I lose my temper and smack you, it's all right, because I didn't mean to, didn't _plan_ to." Chloe rounded on him, voice rising and falling as she showcased her suppressed anger and then realised it wasn't Simon she was angry with.

"You don't understand. He just –"

"She's right," I interrupted, even to my ears my voice sounded conspicuously flat, just as I rounded the corner bringing them both in my line of sight I saw her withdraw, alarm springing in her clear blue eyes. I'm such a shit person. I blinked away my contrition, wishing silently for the prominent stinging at the back of my lids to fade away. Dr Gill's callous castigations had no affect on me but one of those scared, deer-in-the-headlights expressions from Chloe turned my stomach. I assiduously kept my distance from her, several feet behind Simon. I didn't trust myself near anyone.

"I wanted to talk to you last night. When you tried to leave, I pulled you back and . . ." The rest is history, I averted my eyes from her arm, and thankfully she was wearing long sleeves today.

"You _threw_ me across the room."

"I didn't -. Yeah, you're right. Like I said: no excuse. Simon? Let's go." Simon infuriatingly shook his head, determined to make her understand. Understand what? That I'm actually really soft and gooey inside, that I have a syrupy centre that endears me to old ladies and children. Yeah, I think not.

"She doesn't understand. See, Chloe, it's not Derek's fault. He's superstrong and -" And what the fuck does he think he's doing?

"And you weren't wearing your kryptonite necklace," I fudged, unable to muster a grin, bitterness coloured my tone, making my smile resemble a smirk, "Yeah, I'm big. I got big fast. Maybe I don't know my own strength yet," it sounded plausible enough.

"That's not –"

I cut him off, "No excuse, like you said. You want me to stay away from you? Wish granted."

"Derek," Simon pleaded, "Tell her –"

"Drop it okay. She's not interested. She's made that very, very clear. Now let's go before someone catches me with her and I get stomped again." A situation I would not look forward to, however frustrating Gill found it when I didn't react to her draconian verbal punishments.

"Chloe!" Talbot's discordant voice rang out through the yard. How deaf does she think we are? I itched to rub my ears that were ringing.

"Perfect timing, must have ESP." I hope she didn't, I was the only one who had Extra Sensory Perception, it made me feel special. Simon grinned.

"Just a second," Chloe moved obediently, so Talbot could see her.

"Go on. You don't want to be late for your meds." Childish, I know, but it was true.

She glared, still not able to summon the necessary feeling to make a glower truly resonate, perhaps I could give her lessons. I felt Talbot's eyes on me from the window, maybe not.

Simon began murmuring under his breath, in a language that sounded a lot like Greek, brows screwed up in pure concentration. I haven't mastered the language, yet, but I had spent enough time with my brother to know this was a fog smell. "Simon!" I hissed as fog rose up from the ground.

"What is that?" Chloe turned, eyes wide. She's impressed by fog, I could lift up that 3500 lbs car over there, now that's a fucking superpower. Don't fret, I kept my trap shut, she's scared enough already,

"It's nothing Chloe, just your imagination, like everything else. Now run along and take your meds and be a good girl. Don't worry, I'll stay out of your way from now on. Seems I made a mistake. A _big _mistake." She got my meaning. _Now_ she was angry, rage boiling in her usually soft eyes, her fists clenched and so did her teeth, like she was debating how hard she could punch my face. Oh, the irony, like she could even reach it.

"Watch it, Chloe. You wouldn't want to hit me," my lips curled mockingly, "Then I'd have to _tattle_ on you."

"Cut it out, Derek, she didn't tattle –"

"He knows that," her gaze narrowed, "He's baiting me. He's a jerk and a bully," I've been called worse, "and whatever 'secrets' he's taunting me with, he can keep them . He's right. I'm not interested." Give it time. She grabbed the wagon, in jerky movements, anger still bubbling under the normal veneer, just like her necromancy, I guess. Simon looked like she's just stepped on his foot violently.

"Here I'll take that," he reached for the handle, only for her to deliberately sidestep him, his face fell.

"She's got it." I cast him a warning glance, hand on his shoulder. Simon pushed me off, "Chloe," he stepped forward but she wasn't interested.

"God, Derek, what is your problem? Do you have to be such a jerk all the time?" He shook his head with exasperation.

"Shirt answer: yes. You, however, you really need to figure out where your loyalties lie, you're supposed to be on _my _side, remember?" I stared accusatorily from my position by the shabby shed.

"Are you kidding me, who do _you _think was dumb enough to defend you for half an hour," he pushed my chest with flexing, nervous, fuming fingers, "Did you see the marks on her arms? Bruises, Derek, you left _bruises_. Four of them, each as long as my middle finger. Speaking of which: fuck you," he gave me the finger, lips twitching with all the unsaid insults. He sighed, rubbing his temples, fingertips getting tangled in his hair as he slid to the grassy ground, landing with a thump. "Sorry," he said softly, "I know you didn't mean to but –"

"Yeah, _but_," I sat down next to him.

"What are we going to do, Derek?" he swallowed audibly, not looking so happy-go-lucky anymore. "This sucks," he kicked the grass with the heel of his shoe.

Amen.


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen**

Dr Davidoff came with his vulture nose, so prominently hooked I could easily imagine him playing the Wicked Witch of the West, all he needs is a black dress and green paint. Obviously, he was here for Chloe, none of us bore much interest for him, but a newbie was likely to elicit a reaction, plus with him being Dr Gill's superior it was to be expected that he would make an appearance. Check everything was going to plan, so to speak, and it was. For them, not for me.

"This must be little Chloe Saunders," he said in an overly patronising tone. I stifled a laugh; he had the air of an elderly eccentric uncle who only ever visits at the most inopportune times. I could see his shiny bald patch from here. He patted her back, "I like your hair, Chloe. Red stripes, very cool," he said the last word cautiously, kind of like how Chloe said 'necromancer'. We disagreed on the subject of her hair though; I thought it looked stupid and completely unnecessary. Half of the girls in my last school must have spent hours on the weekends trying to achieve a similar shade of blonde in their own hair and there she was covering it up. But then I guess, we all want what we can't have, I wouldn't mind looking like Rafael Nadal but it's going to take more than some hair dye to bring that change about.

"Hey, Dr D," Rae grinned like Davidoff was her favourite adult in the world. "Rachelle. Oh, Rae, right? Are you keeping out of trouble?" he didn't pat her on the back. "Always Dr D," there was that smile again. "That's my girl. Now, Chloe, Dr Gill tells me you had quite a breakthrough today," Really? How absolutely fascinating for us all. "She's very pleased with your progress and how quickly you've fit into the therapeutic routine and accepted your diagnosis." Wow, she was more efficient than me, if this didn't go against absolutely everything I wanted I would have been impressed, as it was I paused in consuming my lunch to stare a bit. After all, this was demonstrative proof that she was everything I labelled her to be. "Normally, I don't meet with our young people until they've been here at least a week, but since you've been speeding right along, Chloe, I don't want to hold you back. I'm sure your eager to get back to your friends and school as soon as possible" She copied Rae's saccharine, vomit-inducing little-girl smile, obedient as a lost puppy.

Am I living in some alternate universe, once a kid, no less, has bee diagnosed with as serious a mental disorder as schizophrenia, surely she would stay at least three months until she adapts to her new lifestyle changes, right? He was acting like she would be packed off home in the morning.

"Come along then and we'll chat in Dr Gill's office," always a fun prospect.

Simon was sullen, no matter how much I paced or sighed heavily implying I wanted to converse, he just sat on his backside glued to his DS, uninterested in talking to me. Simon is a firm believer in emotion-focused coping. I gave up, giving him some much desired space and logging onto the clunking computer, I could find a better one in any internet café in a fifty mile radius, it takes an age to whir to life. I checked the news, did some covert searching for Dad, checking his inbox and Facebook page. No, I don't get the social networking thing, in case anyone was wondering. It seems to me like you take all that trouble to build a profile and choose a strategic picture to make friends with people you don't know and never will know or to get laid. It's just . . . weird, but rumour has it that I'm the only one who thinks that

Bored now that I'd wasted over half an hour, I glanced over to Simon who was spread out on the sofa looking like a couch potato, still engrossed in his idiotic game. "Stop staring at me," he said from his seat, gaze transfixed on whatever being he was mindlessly shooting, he might as well have morphed into Peter.

"I'm bored."

"Don't care," and he's normally the talkative one, "Play Solitaire or whatever, sometimes it good to let your mind just relax a bit, instead of obsessing and fretting the entire time. You're getting both of us worked up, oh yeah and _you're _hitting people," he held his hands up innocently when I glared at him for bringing it up, "Just saying, you could do with some down time, bro, if we were at home I'd challenge you to a Michael Jackson dance-off, but here your options are a DVD or computer games. Your choice." The DVD's her suck, I'm not as easily placated as Liz, I chewed my lip I hadn't even thought about her today . . .because of Chloe, why did she have to stir everything up? All I needed was for her to fulfil her purpose and then she could dance off into the sunset holding hands with Simon, red stripes luminous in the light. Okay, I did need downtime.

I opened a new tab and typed the army website into the browser, I always thought I would make a good soldier, I'm physically fit, I don't give a shit about most people but I protect those on my team, and strategies are my game. Love it, I started to smear mud on my soldier's face for camouflage then chose my weapon, an SA80 A2, standard army weapon, light-weight and terrific to shoot at long and close-range.

From the corner of my eye I noticed Simon move from his slouching position and just knew even before I could smell her who it was. Only one person in this household would make Simon embarrassed to be found doing, well jack shit. I could feel his eyes flicker between me and her, Chloe had paused in the doorway. She smelt of vanilla. I felt as if I was in the way, which in retrospect I guess I was, to her I was an obstacle to Simon, like every other girl in the world.

"If you're going for a snack, grab me a Coke. You know where they're hidden," I said magnanimously, not looking at him or her, as far as she was concerned she thought I didn't know she was there. I had handed him a get-out-of-jail-free card now if he wanted to talk to her he could, and without feeling guilty as he was still stung about my remark about his loyalties earlier. I wasn't being serious, he was just being incredibly sensitive today.

He slouched back, just like I knew he would, because Simon knew that I knew Chloe was there and like an idiot he actually gave a damn about what I thought. "You want a Coke, get it yourself."

I plotted the coordinates for my grenade landing, I wanted it to hit both tanks, "I didn't _ask _you to get me one. I said _if _you were going."

"I'm not."

"Then say so already. What's with you tonight?" I heard Chloe's footsteps down the hall and I turned momentarily to look at him.

"What?" he said aggressively.

"Nothing." I turned back to my game, determined to beat my previous score, which was pretty high.

Of course, she returned, when it came to snaring Simon's coveted heart it seems she was willing to drop everything, helping the both of us, however, was unfortunately a different story. Girls. If they don't get a boyfriend out of it then they just don't care, dimly i wondered if that was the case across the globe, maybe if Chloe was from Scandinavia we'd be plotting our escape right now. I doubted it, Simon generally generated the same response from girls no matter their nationality, he himself was of dual heritage after all.


	19. Chapter 19

**Nineteen**

"Are you going to have a shower?" Simon was pacing about the room, it was twenty to eight and he had been on edge throughout the day, especially this past hour.

"You know, it's nice, really it is, that you're taking an interest in my personal hygiene but we're foster brothers not Siamese twins, you don't need to know the whys and wherefores of ever part of my daily routine. As for your question, yes, like every other day since we've been here I am going to have a shower at my usual time of eight o' clock . . . unless that's not okay with you, that is." I tugged on the sleeve of a baggy brown hoodie that was stuck in my bottom drawer. It would just not get the fuck out.

"I was just . . . enquiring," he collapsed onto his bed, exhaling deeply, ruffling his almost fringe, both of us needed a haircut before we got marginalised further for looking like emos.

"Pretty soon, we're going to have man-bangs," I shook the curtain of hair that was getting dangerously close to obscuring my vision and scowled, "Not a good look for anybody."

"I don't know, I think I could pull it off," Simon pouts, draping blonde strands over his forehead, "I look better than Chace Crawford," I begin to ask but he tuts knowingly, "Never mind, the beauty of not having a steady girlfriend is that no one forces you to watch shows like The Hills and Gossip Girl."

"Yeah, I don't think you can blame girlfriends for that, rather the girls you're into, besides you love The Hills, I've seen you watch it in the morning before you think I'm awake," it's true, Simon loved the reality show for reasons unknown, the only show I can recall is Power Rangers. Good times.

He sat up; arms crossed defensively, "Only because Spencer reminds me of you, you know, your regular snarky, sarcastic, basically unfriendly attitude that manages to alienate everything and everyone." He stares at me pointedly, expecting an equally harsh response, I can't tell if he's annoyed because I'm a perpetual dick or because I'm not very nice to Chloe, it's not like I don't try to be but it's hard to break the habit of a lifetime. If I ever speak to a girl it's usually got Simon involved somewhere, apart from Liz, but this time I need to speak to Chloe, get her to trust me, actually I would settle for her not hating me at least for the duration that she remains here.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I give one last yank and the drawer falls from the chest, wood cracking along the side, the knob snapped in three unequal parts. On the plus side, my hoodie is free; I tuck it under my arm.

"Genius, Derek, that's just fucking stellar, is there anything else you want to break, the desk, the bathroom mirror, or how about _my _arm, seen as now you're done picking on girls." I stop on my way to the door, actually paralysed from astonishment; it was like a kick in the teeth. Simon _always understands_, he's _always _on my side and _always _sticks up for _me _– not that I need it – and now . . . We never used to argue like this.

My jaw works and I swallow, "Picking on girls?" I repeat solemnly, he looks down ashamed. Always the first to repent, I guess some things never change, no matter what. "That's what you think I do to pass the time: pick on girls. I know your mind is preoccupied with your new girlfriend and everything but spare a thought for the rest of us okay, because when you're busy flirting and pretending nothing's happening, I'm trying to get her to accept herself, her _real_ self," I inclined my head thoughtfully," I wonder what she'll be most thankful for in the long run: meaningless banter or the ability to be who she is and learn to live with it," I pondered before slamming the door behind me. A glance at Simon's face showed me his mounting ire, jealousy is an unattractive emotion but it's a nice development for it to be aimed at me. I never envied Simon his ease with girls, how could I when they were all so . . . identical? Chloe's nice in the purest sense, but a few weeks into a relationship with my brother and she will morph into all the other girls, sometimes I think Simon moulds them, they all try to be what he wants, they straighten their air and pile on the pounds of make-up and giggle inanely, playing with the straps on their tank tops.

Only one of his girlfriends ever tried to be nice to me, this was back when Simon had just started dating and puberty wasn't such a bitch, I was only about twelve, maybe thirteen years old, playing on the second-hand Playstation 2, slouching on the sofa and she was waiting for Simon, who like a true diva took about two hours to get the gel in his hair _just _right. Her name was Sophie and she had bright red hair and large brown eyes like chocolate, even then, for me, everything was related to food. Her hair was strawberries although I could smell it from where I was sitting and it smelt of coconut. She asked me if I had a girlfriend and why I didn't hang out at the diner after school like my brother. "Because people suck," she nodded sympathetically and told me she liked my eyes and that she'd always wanted green eyes, "Have them then," she chuckled a nice, bright laugh and then Simon came downstairs. I never saw her after that; a sense of foreboding filled me because I really wanted to see Liz again.

I don't believe in fate, luck or superstition but the coincidence that both Sophie and Liz are gone after being nice to me, Liz blatantly _nicer _than most, suggest that maybe someone out there knows something I don't. Maybe not seeing me again is mandatory, I don't want to hurt anyone and above all I want Liz to be safe, I am positive that Chloe knows more than she's letting on. I sigh, no use crying over spilt milk.

The bathroom was welcomingly quiet and private; I smiled to myself as I thought of how Liz had bumped into me half naked on the corridor. Pulling off my clothes I stop to stare at the mirror, the face mirror not the one stuck to the wall and not out of egotism. By and large I avoid studying my reflection in the mirror for obvious reasons, if I don't think about how I look then I won't give a damn how people perceive me and I don't _want I_ to give a damn about what people think of me. But the mirror was moving, I swear on . . . anybody's life, the mirror moved. It was tilting so the angle changed until it paused for long seconds on my abs. Was this all in my mind, did I fancy myself?

Disconcerted and completely freaked out I stripped out of my boxers, turned the shower on and stepped hastily into freezing cold water that instantaneously changed to boiling hot, "Fuck!" I screamed, settling down when the temperature cooled to a comfortable warm.

"Language, Derek!" Talbot rapped on the door, scolding.

"Yeah, if you're wanking, the whole fucking house doesn't want to hear it," Tori, she's all butterflies and palm trees that girl.

"Tori, I will not have that language used by children in this house," Talbot rounded on her.

"Yeah, fuck you!" I don't know why I said that, in my defence I was freaking out, I thought I was losing my mind or that I was a magician and could suddenly magically move mirrors without knowing it, and Tori was the nearest outlet.

"Right, that's enough!" I could imagine Talbot's red, exasperated visage on the other side of the door, she was so loud I could clearly hear her through the steady, fast patter of the running water. "Both of you are going to apologise to each other and then write a thousand worded essay on why swearing is intolerable and vulgar," she spat out the last word, Talbot was very old-fashioned.

"You can't do that," Tori wailed, "This isn't school," I bet she was yanking on the ends of her short hair.

"Aaaw, are you going to tell your Mommy," I sniggered.

"At least I have one, asshole!"

"Tori, Derek, when you get out of the shower, go straight to Dr Gill's room, two hours in each other's company and you will be polite," she stressed before Tori harrumphed and flounced of cursing under her breath.

I swallowed a gush of water, choking and spluttering. "Two hours!" Now it was my turn to howl.

"You should have thought about that before, Derek, you of all people should know how priceless good manners are." What, because of my severe and apparent lack of them. I bit my tongue and silently reached for the shower gel, there was no soap so the strong smell of peppermint would be cloaking me all night. I shuddered and then shuddered again because the shower gel was moving towards me. It opened, "Gah!" I gasped in disbelief as it squirted, by itself, onto the floor. It looked like the letter L but before I could decipher anything I leapt from the bathtub and promptly crashed into the wall, misjudging the area of the door, simply desperate to get away from here. I'd take Tori over this mindfuck.

Something cold pressed into my back, a wet paper towel, blood dotted down my shoulder. "Jesus," I breathed slow and steady, trying out some self-coping statements. I am not insane. I am not insane. I am not insane. The paper towel effectively cleaned my cuts, warily I scouted for any other moving objects. I was remarkably calm considering I was naked with apparently David Blaine. Breathe deep, one, two, three, and four. Something moved, I could hear the sound, it was the seat, purple and sliding from its place by the wall to me, it had no back. _Breathe. _Hysteria bubbled in my throat, was this a side-effect, had Dr Gill given me the wrong medication? The seat nudged my knee again and my legs buckled.

I sat.


	20. Chapter 20

**Twenty**

Okay, okay, I was uncharacteristically fascinated by my feet, like I said I don't believe in superstition so the fact that my second toe isn't longer than my big toe (apparently that's the mark of a genius) doesn't bother me and obviously isn't true. I was beginning to believe that this was place was seriously haunted and a tiny part of me felt sorry for Chloe, for having to deal with these maniacs. Some of them quite clearly were total perverts and had taken up voyeurism as their new hobby; surely they would have better taste though, right?

An ugly, damp pink towel lay beside me, folded, I went to reach for it and cover my exposed parts but the towel much like the paper towel came towards me, eyes huge and horrified I watched it pat my chest, making shapes along my torso. This is weird. I stayed stock still, taking several minutes to realise they were not shapes but letters. Capital letters that spelt out: R E L A X. "Easier said than done," I said aloud to my own mortification, it seemed I truly was schizophrenic, communicating with beings that were a figment of my own imagination and Simon always said I lacked creativity. "Who are you?" I asked feeling, for one, dumb and ignorant, a few sandwiches short of a picnic, if you will.

L I Z. I jumped up, fingers tangling in my unruly hair, nails scraping my scalp. "Is this some sort of sick joke?" I kicked the seat away and it crashed into the opposite wall hiding a few newly formed cracks, flakes of plaster dropped to the floor and I backed against the wall. Thankfully the shower was still running, my hectic breaths were muffled, the towel came at me again and I whimpered. "Make it stop, make it stop," I mumbled, being a werewolf was enough; I could wrap my head around that but this, "Make it stop, please." The one good thing was that Liz would never have done something so sadistic, not to anyone. Or would she? Simon's girlfriends always got off-the-scale fuming when he didn't call them, Dad said it was because they felt used and fathers always warn their daughters that guys are only after one thing, therefore all Simon's actions did was prove them right. That was when Simon interjected that he absolutely did not "use" those girls, he never touched them and why am I thinking about this, right now?

I tried to focus; new letters were being drawn out on my stomach, it spelt out S O R R Y and C A L M . . . the towel dropped the last few letters shaky like whatever it was felt upset. What if it was Liz? I didn't believe she was dead but maybe she had some sort of superpower like astral-projecting, you never know what's out there. "Liz," I said quietly to the air, "It's okay," I had no idea what I was saying, "You're all right," I patted a spot on the floor next to me, spying a glossy magazine sticking out of the cupboard with the toilet roll in, Tori's no doubt. What was she doing in the boys' bathroom; I shook my head, Talbot's punishment for bad language meant I'd get plenty of time – two whole hours – to find out later. I pulled it out from where it was wedged and dropped it next to the spot I'd offered.

Immediately the pages began to flip and I hid my head in my hands, this was not happening to me. A slapping sound rang out, Liz – we'll call that her name for now – was dropping the magazine purposefully, possibly to attract my notice, the page she was on had a picture of a girl writing a list of ways to save money. A pen! I hunted for one; fortunately Tori felt the need to have a pen handy as well when she was in here, to fill out the questionnaires or some shit probably. I rolled the biro along the floor.

_Thank you _she wrote in her neat, sloping cursive. _You look nice_, I looked down and blushed, forgetting that I was completely naked, I covered my lap with a dry white towel. _Aaaw_, then she drew a smiley face. "What are you doing here; shouldn't you be in a wall with padded cells? Have I finally lost my mind?" _I don't know_. "Helpful, that's real helpful," I shook my head, "Can you touch me?" I wondered aloud, curiosity getting the better of me. _I can try, but I don't want to_. "Why's that?" _Because it doesn't seem to work_. "So, err," I coughed into my fist at a loss for words, this was not a regular occurrence, "What's new?" Not the best conversation starter, I am aware.

_You hit Chloe, she's scared of you. She read your file. _"Yeah, tell me something I don't know." _I think they're drugging me. _Now that's a conversation starter, I massaged my shoulders, they felt insufferably stiff. "I don't really know what to say, I guess they're trying to keep you under control, make sure you settle in without any trouble, I mean it is a big change and you are still a kid," I ventured, one of my best qualities is that I can rationalise anything. _I'm the same age as you, hardly a kid_. "Aaaw did I strike a nerve?" _If I could hit you I would_. I smiled, I missed her, does that make me sappy? "I thought you said, sorry _wrote_, that I should be nicer to Chloe, are you leading by example?" I grinned again, feeling surprisingly unperturbed while having a conversation with someone who wasn't there, in body at least. _You should be nicer to her, she's a good friend_. "Really?" I questioned unconvinced, "You left because she was here, if you take her out of the equation then I'd bet you'd still be here and we'd actually be _talking_, you know, communicating with _spoken _words, not written." _It's not her fault._

I snort, "You would say that, can I just say you aren't exactly the best judge of character, for one you were friends with Tori –" I stopped when she started writing again, angrier this time on the basis of her sharper, not as neat scribbles. _And I made out with you._ "Ouch," that hurt, more than it should have, when am I ever going to learn? _Sorry_. I reached for my sweater I was as clean as I ever was going to be in these circumstances, I desperately needed sleep, the stress was obviously starting to get to me, Simon was going to have to start pulling his weight if he wanted any relatives left alive, blood or not. _Derek! _"What?" I snapped, louder than I originally thought, I prayed no-one was hovering outside. _I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, but you are a jerk sometimes. I miss you, I just wanted to see you, make sure you're okay, you seem frazzled_. I sat back down, she missed me, should I tell her the same? I didn't want to, not yet, not until I knew she was real, a sense of unease trickled into my mind. "You're not a ghost or anything, right?" I kept the panic off my face; she couldn't be dead, gone just like that without any notice. _No_. So simple, so certain, I wish it was that easy, my fears didn't ebb. _Don't worry_. I leant my head back against the wall, this was just too much to deal with, I wanted to howl, completely sick of all the things I didn't know. _What do you dream about? _The scratch of the pen alerted me.

"What kind of question is that?" I wrinkled my nose, such a girl. My expression must have given my thought away because the pen sailed towards my eye. "It's a good job I have excellent reflexes," I swiped at the splotch of blue ink that had dripped onto my chin and stood, the towel wrapped securely around me as I got my boxers, I wanted to be at least partially clothed. "Why do you want to know?" I asked, frowning as my legs wouldn't co-ordinate and the towel loosened around my hips. "Oh for fuck's sake, no peeking," I glowered at where I thought she was and turned around hurriedly putting them on, before returning to where I could see what she had written. _You get boners in your sleep, did you know that? _I flamed, "Yes, I did, there are two reasons men get erections in their sleep, the first is that they need to pee and the second is brain activity, during sleep the mind randomly fires neurons which control everything your body does including erections."  
><em>So not because you had a dirty dream. <em>"I don't remember my dreams once I've woken up," I lied. _Nice save. _"You do realise I'm going to have to get rid of that magazine. You know if this ever happens again you should just bring your cell," I said, it sounded like a good idea. _Are you asking me for my number? If you are, I'm flattered but you're forgetting that you don't have a cell. _"Oh, shit." I pulled on my tracksuit pants.

"Derek, Tori said she isn't feeling well so she's going to bed early, your punishment commences tomorrow directly after breakfast," Mrs Talbot shared.

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

_What's she on about?_

"I have a date with your BFF." I picked up the magazine and folded it away, too scared to say goodbye.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter twenty-one**

The next morning I ate my breakfast with a sense of dread hanging over me, as I chewed each morsel languidly in an effort to prolong the time between now and when I would be forced to spend two hours in Tori's oh so pleasurable company. Simon, on the other hand was consuming food with renewed strength and an inordinate amount of gusto. Of course, I knew what he and Chloe had been up to last night, nothing untoward is my bet. Chloe doesn't seem like that type of girl, but I'm sure their secret meeting was entertaining for them both and rather than quell his partiality to her, the more time he spends with her it seems the more he likes her. This could work in my favour.

"So did you learn anything interesting?" I ask only half bothered; Simon's eyes are shining as he taps out a rhythm with a spoon. He's smiling and cheerful again: the Simon I'm used to. Funny, his high spirits never used to be dependent on a girl, well not a girl singular, but until his tryst with her yesterday he had been sullen and ratty.

He grinned wide and laughed, "Yeah, she thinks you're beating me up on a regular basis. She thinks I'm scared of you," he snorted, mirth dancing in his vivid light brown irises. Clearly this is a source of amusement for him, the idea is laughable. I would never _ever _hurt Simon, I would _die _for him whether he would do the same for me or not and I don't know why. Generally we get along, but there are times we can't stand each other and always seem to rub each other up the wrong way, but even so protecting him is my first instinct. Dad says it's the wolf, but I think that part of my make-up is me, Simon and Dad are all I have, all I need, keeping them safe is imperative. Needless to say I am quite displeased of the image she has of me and portrayed to Simon. She doesn't know me at all, but that's hardly surprising.

News of Chloe's "relapse" reached me inadvertently, her Aunt Lauren, pretty, blonde, stuck-up hurtled into me very distressed and then glared at me like I was filth.

"You should watch where you're going," I say calmly before turning away, I can hear her gasp of outrage behind me. She means well, I guess, she protects Chloe in the same way I protect Simon. Trouble is she is shit at it, I would do a better job than her and judging by the evil brother-bashing monster Chloe believes me to be that is truly saying something.

I overheard a few snippets of conversation, waiting for Dr Gill's office to clear so I could get this ridiculous punishment over and done with. "N-n-no, I wasn't _seeing _ghosts. I was just c-confused, it was like I was dreaming of ghosts, it was all really . . . abstract." Chloe's timid voice and rubbish lie were totally transparent.

Shaking my head I left them to their own devices. I wanted to see if I could find Liz again, or discover some way of proving that wasn't her. I was still fairly certain she was alive. What reason would they have to kill her? Wait. _Kill her? Why would I think that? _If she had died, it could have been in a completely unrelated incident: a collision with another car, taken hostage by some escaped prisoner, swept up in a hurricane.

It had to be the stress I was under, or side effects to the useless medication they have me on. Paranoia is always so welcome.

"Derek, what are you doing? Go to Dr Gill's office, I have taken the liberty of providing you both with lined paper and a pen, Tori is already there. Two hours and I want a well-thought out essay on all the negatives of swearing." Mrs Talbot frowns with disapproval at my loitering; I drag my feet to Dr Gill's office. Chloe and her obnoxious relative are long gone; Tori's curled up in the apple green chair a gloating grin on her glossed lips. I sit as far away as I can but she still tenses and shoots me an unwelcoming look.

I pick up the pen and start writing. Three sides should do it, it's nothing earth-shattering, just some drivel about how swearing is vulgar and uncouth, common of the lower classes and considered bad manners. As I only write good essays, I introduce the counter argument i.e. swearing also shows the range and command of one's vocabulary and can in some ways be a creative outlet, profanities are in the dictionary for a reason etc etc. Done . . . and I have approximately ninety minutes left.

Tori's paper is untouched, she scowls at me, rifling through Dr Gill's things: few silver framed photographs, a Moleskin notebook, a silk scarf. Nothing that would obtain my interest. "Before you ask, yes I am just going to sit here and look pretty, this "punishment" is completely unfair and undeserved, so you can be a good boy but I would rather take a stand." She crosses her legs, seamed purple tights showing an intricate floral design, her denim shirt is ragged but fashionably so. She wears Liz's green jumper, I know because I can still detect her unmistakably fruity scent, a stab of worry crushes me momentarily before I push it aside. She'll be okay. She is okay.

"I bet you've never rebelled in your life, you have the classic principal's daughter attitude, but believe me the novelty will wear off after a bit. If you think I'm going to write your essay for you, you can go to hell."

"I wouldn't want to beat you," she smiles sweetly with sparkling cherryish lips, her dark eyes, almost black, are empty, devoid of any notable emotion, it's quite disconcerting. "The essay is a load of bullshit, being here is a load of bullshit," she punctuates her last statement with a kick to the oak desk. Great, a hissy fit, next she'll stamp her feet. I wait for the increase in her outburst, I hope she starts hurling things and then gets transferred.

"Yeah, I'm sure there are no redeeming qualities here for you," I roll my eyes, her fixation on Simon borders on unhealthy. "You want to know my theory."

"I thought _you _were supposed to be anti-social. I don't seem to be able to shut you up," she raises her sleek eyebrows. How did Liz do it?

"What can I say? You bring out the very best in me." I grin, completely freaking her out. Excellent.

"A rare occurrence," she mumbles, sniffing the sleeve like it belongs to an old boyfriend or a dead relative. No, not dead, I didn't mean dead. I blink rapidly as she clicks her fingers wildly in front of my face, "Go on then what's your theory, Einstein, is it that I have middle child syndrome because I'm a firstborn, baby," she flashes a wicked smile, taunting. Everyone has the capacity to be nice, God; her mother must be an utter nightmare.

"My theory is that you're obsessed with Simon merely because he said no to you, I bet, other than that you have no significant interest in him," I smirk, "Either that or you're just desperate," she stabs her middle finger up, lips twisted. I lean back, unconcerned, she doesn't bother me, doesn't have any effect on me whatsoever and that is the worst possible thing. Girls like Tori crave a reaction whether it be hate, envy, reverence or spite, she needs something to show that she isn't pointless.

"You really have no qualms about selling your brother short, do you? Maybe, I like him because he's funny and cute and –"

My sardonic smile says it all.

"What do you know about girls?" she tosses her thin arms in the air, thinner than they should be, perhaps I've been eating her share of the food. Oh well, I'm a growing boy. "I bet no one besides Simon has ever gotten close enough to talk to you at least not of their own volition. You see, there's something about your face Derek that's very off-putting," her words are supposed to hurt, they are supposed to be blows for someone with low self esteem but I don't care.

"It must be hard spending all that time reworking what God gave you in the mirror only to find you still don't quite measure up," Tori flinches at my words, she cares, this also meant we spent the last hour in silence, the scratch of Tori's pen filling the room.

The relief I experienced upon leaving the office was not to be believed, I spied Chloe's back, she was setting the table meticulously, I had heard she was well-off, probably from Simon so that would explain how the cutlery were automatically an inch away either side from the plate. I had never been happier to see anyone, a brief smile fluttered about my mouth. It wasn't her per se, it was just the fact that she _wasn't _Tori, always a good thing. "I'm behind you," I warned, remembering all the different ways she started whenever I was around, of course, even now she spins like I'm the Grim Reaper, eyes wide and sweet. Really sweet.

"I can't win. You're as skittish as a kitten." A simile I've never understood, possibly due to my inability to be around animals without causing a scene. I like snakes though, the really big, poisonous ones that look deadly dangerous like pythons and anacondas, there patterns are mesmerising.

"So if you sneak up and announce yourself, that's going to startle me less than when you tap me on the shoulder?" A mighty bit touchy still then.

"I didn't sneak –" Fuck it, I shake my head and grab two crunch bread rolls, dispersing the ones that remain to hide my pilfering. "I just wanted to say that if you and Simon want to talk, you don't need to do it behind my back. Unless you want to." I added as an afterthought, some girls liked the cloak and dagger stuff, boys too, that's why the quarterback from our last school spent the majority of lesson time in the sauna with his best friend's girlfriend. No I didn't tell anyone.

"We were just –" she's blushing a pale shade of pink like bubblegum. I wonder if something did happen last night, I dismiss the idea immediately Simon would have said, he would have gushed.

"I know what you were doing. Simon already told me. You want answers. I've been trying to give you them all along. You just have to ask." A flicker of irritation sharpened my voice, so predictable. If I tell her she's a necromancer she shrugs it off instantly as fanciful and silly, but if Simon delivers the news she swallows it like her many pills. It could be my accent.

"But you said –"

"Tonight. Eight. Our room," I cut her off speaking monosyllabically, dimly noticing she hasn't once stuttered: improvement. And less annoying. "Tell Mrs Talbot you'll be with me for Math tutoring," that's an excuse that will work, not like her lame _I was just dreaming I _lie earlier, a smile tugs my lips, it was quite amusing.

"Your side is off-limits? You really think she's going to let me go up there, alone, with a boy?" I scrutinised her carefully to see whether it was being in my room with _me_ that worried her, in that case I would have just left her and Simon to it. Yet she seemed fine, untroubled by my presence.

"Just tell her its for math she won't question it," I answer firmly, about to bite into my bread roll.

"Will that be okay . . . you and I aren't supposed to . . .?" A fair concern but I still got the niggling feeling that she was scouring for any reason not to come. Plus, the mention of what happened the other day brought back some unseemly emotions, remorse drowned my gut. Looking at her now so small and trusting, pretty eyes tracing the walls around the room, she looked as scary as an apple pie. I felt like such a dick.

"Tell her Simon'll be there," He'll look after you, "And talk to Talbot not Van Dop."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter twenty-two**

"She's so pretty," Simon stated for what seemed like the hundredth time, mulling over a shiny red apple. Is he actually going to eat it? We were alone in the classroom, the others quickly dispersing during a half hour break, they couldn't get away fast enough. Apart from Tori, that is, who dragged her feet shooting baleful looks at me, for once her consideration sidetracked from Simon's who was happily doodling a picture of a bright blue cat. Luckily we had the foresight to bring provisions with us, hence the crackling noise of my family size packet of Doritos. I have to hand it to Simon, when he does deign to go out he sure knows how to splurge. He once smuggled back three Big Macs, hidden under his tee-shirt so obviously that an old lady in the street tutted behind him, mumbling about the 'advances in technology' and how all this 'lark' was 'unnatural'. In short, she thought Simon was pregnant. It was so worth it, the memory of it makes my hunger return tenfold. Good times.

"Do you think she has a boyfriend?" Simon jerks upright as if this would bother him, I can practically view the cogs turning in his brain, making connections. What are the chances? I personally highly doubt it, not that there is anything wrong with her. Far from it . . . she is just a little timid and consequently gives off the impression that she is delicate. Guys don't tend to go for girls they fear they will have to tread on eggshells with, but then I though guys didn't like high-maintenance girlfriends, but Simon proved me wrong, apparently they are "hot". "I don't know," Simon mumbled to himself, "She would say something, wouldn't she? Girls usually find a way to bring a _boyfriend _into the conversation."

"Maybe you can drop by at Waterstones and pick up a copy of her autobiography. I'm sure you'll find the necessary information in there," I said apathetically between crunching, there was a cobweb in the corner of the room, recently spun.

I could feel Simon's eyes boring into me, "Helpful, Derek, really," he nodded, reinforcing his sarcasm. It wasn't my fault. All he spoke about was Chloe. Chloe this, Chloe that, oh and Chloe said this and she thinks this, it was never-ending. He thought that his mini-crisis with Chloe was worthy of my notice, well, it wasn't. I had fucking issues, Liz could or could not be dead, Tori actually noticed my existence, what's next: will Rae add me on Facebook? I huffed under my breath, "I don't think she has a boyfriend," Simon settled definitively, leaning back in his chair, a few seconds and doubt flared again from his eyes: he needed reassurance.

"I don't think you have to worry, if she did, she doesn't now. No one really wants to date a crazy chick that sees dead people . . . or thinks she does," I amended, "The Sixth Sense is not sexy," I shook my head, I had seen much worse movies.

"Yeah but that doesn't mean they have officially broken up."

"Shut up, Simon, just fucking shut up and draw pictures of your wedding or something, because if you say anything related to Chloe bloody Saunders I will bash my head through this table." I glared at him checking to see if the message was delivered loud and clear, his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed his words. Thank fuck for that. The apple was still being swirled about on the table, bugging me. "Oh for fuck's sake." I got up. I wanted fruit.

Not a single unbruised banana, me and Talbot were going to be having words. I could hear some prominent sounds to my ears, banging and shuffling, whines of shattered hope. _Did Chloe just curse? _No, of course not, it was Rae. I guessed easily what they were doing, a certain blonde it seemed had suddenly decided to grow a pair. Nice change. I glimpsed an apple at the bottom and pounced on it regularly, it wasn't as perfectly round and glossy as Simon's red-gold apple, fucking artists – always pick the best of everything – but it would do.

Footsteps, light footsteps that I identified as Chloe's automatically, they disappeared for a minute, doubt assailed me, she would be close enough to see me now, I could smell her. Was she scared? I stiffened until I could sense that she was getting closer, her scent was sharper, I smirked broadly: she was creeping.

Without looking and hiding any trace of a smile from my face as I heard her consciously trying to quieten her breath I told her, "The key you want isn't on that ring," I resolutely kept my regard on the apple I was extracting, further disconcerting her.

I bit into the apple more to hide my expression than anything else. Simon was right; she was pretty, even frozen like she was now. With her blonde hair and blue eyes she would make the perfect Snow Queen, if it wasn't for the warmth that she helplessly projected from those dancing irises. How did people get the energy to be so nice? As far as I know beautiful people are assholes and ugly people are too, I guess it's the people who consider themselves average when they really aren't that summon the friendliness to make friends in society. I walked towards the fridge, reaching behind it and generally being quite helpful. I had already searched and found where all the keys to this place were kept, even for inconsequential places like the crawl space.

I dropped the set of jangling keys into her unconsciously upturned palm, cautious not to touch her hand, "Try these," I said before walking away, "I have no idea what you guys are doing down there, but next time you want to secretly open a locked door, don't whale on it hard enough to bring down the whole house," I advised like a shit Charles Xavier.

It was then I remembered that I needed to tell Simon about the meeting we had set for later. Down time with Chloe and a bed in the same room, Simon would be ecstatic. I hissed angrily as a splinter from the poorly painted door frame punctured my palm, I was being a little harsh. Simon genuinely liked Chloe, I just didn't want to play gooseberry, not when there was some serious shit to attend to.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-three**

"When?" Simon barked at me, immediately hopping up off the bed after carefully selecting a hunter green felt tip to colour in his newest drawing. Naturally he refused to tell me what it was of, typical Simon, he only ever decided to keep secrets when they were completely beneath my notice. His dark eyes swivelled to glare at me for taking my sweet time before answering. So, I'd postponed till the last possible moment before telling him about Chloe's imminent arrival, anyone would think I was Cruella de Ville the way Simon's face was screwed up. "Damn it, Derek!" Simon ungracefully crashed into the chair, knocking a swathe of papers of my desk, my ambitious science project crashed to the floor with a resounding bang.

All obstacles apparently, between Simon and the mirror.

"Are you actually checking your hair?" I snorted, unable to keep the grin from my face as he ran the comb through his blonde spikes in a futile effort to tame them into submission. "Are you going for a more sophisticated look?" I cast my mind back to the brainless but pretty pages of Liz's glossy weekly magazines. "Are you ready to ditch the post box red lipstick and try subtler nude shades to match those newly purchased pencil skirts?" I parroted, quite well if you ask me.

Simon's nose twitched, a sign that he was bothered, he glanced at me curiously, venom fading from his gleaming eyes, sparkling with newfound pleasure. He really did like her. "Don't tell me you have subscribed to Vogue," his brow wrinkled, "Or did you add Victoria Beckham on Twitter, has somebody finally informed you that Eminem circa 1999, is _so _last year," he grinned, turning back to the mirror. He tugged on his dark blue tee-shirt, inspecting for stains and smoothing out wrinkles. Dad would have been proud. He fished a belt out wrapping it around his trim waist, frowning when he the buckle partially twisted.

"You look so ridiculous," I criticised, his tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as his eyes narrowed in absorption. He was back to fussing with his hair once the belt was mastered, giving up on flattening the spikes, he twisted several strands near the front to pull off the 'tousled' look. Normally, I would sneer at such an obvious display of shallowness, but right now I found it endearing. "You know, seeing you right now reminds me of that guy from mythology," I snap my fingers as I pretend to grope for the correct name, "Narcissus," I flash my teeth in what Si calls my wolfy smile, "He was a nice guy, a little self absorbed but –" the remainder of my science project hurtled towards my head. I chuckled.

"What time, Derek?" he growled, stretching his arms in the air, rotating slowly, he jumped on the balls of his feet betraying his excitement.

I took a cursory glance at the alarm clock, "I said 8" It was 7:58.

"Where is she?" he bounced unhappily on the bed playing with a flick knife. He used to have a lighter, one of those expensive heavy gold ones with an ornate design that glowed even without the flickering blue-red flame. Something Rae would have become obsessed with. Dad gave it to him, ages ago, not that he encouraged smoking, I think it was more to reinforce their shared connection. It can be quite disruptive when an unruly, undomesticated five year old wereboy comes along and upsets the family structure. I monopolised a lot of his time, it was a wonder that Simon didn't grow to resent me. Simon left the lighter at home, top draw beneath the grey woolly socks I purchased for his fourteenth birthday, the only present I have ever given him, they had eyeballs on them. The flick knife evidently was acting as a substitute for the lighter, I really hoped we got it back one day. Objects, possessions, they mean zilch to me, I could happily leave everything I have ever owned, ever known behind as long as I had the people. But even I remember being so small my head barely touched the marble top of the coffee table, watching the tall, square-faced Korean man spell my name out with this shiny gold block that had a flame sticking out of it. Then he had spelt his name. K I T. "Can you say Kit, Derek? Derek, say Kit" he would chortle when I smiled blankly to afraid to speak to anyone and then guffaw when I got myself trapped into all sorts of mischief. I have lost count the amount of times he had to yell at me for midnight raids, finding me at sunrise with chocolate and baked bread flour smeared across my cheeks looking like I had done nothing wrong. Like it was completely normal, things are so simple when you're five. You just don't think about anything.

"Relax, Simon, she'll be here. Soon, she probably doesn't have the same bad habit that you have of being ten minutes late wherever you go," I raise an eyebrow. It was edging closer to the time I took a shower, I thought it tactful to leave them alone so they could chat about all the mundane things that people interested in each other want to chat about, while I would concoct how on earth I would introduce Liz into the conversation.

"Well, what was she doing when you asked her to come up?" his hurt brown eyes studied the carpet with fascination, like he couldn't possibly imagine Chloe doing something more fun than being with him, I was tempted to point out his egotism but when Simon's in this type of Tori-like mood, there is no speaking to him.

"Something with Rae, I think," I muttered vaguely, unwilling to go in to all the details.

Simon frowned, "I'm surprised you're so chilled, when I'm half a second late you explode –"

"Because you never have a valid reason," I point out deftly before reaching into our recently acquired private stash of dark chocolate. No one in this house likes dark chocolate, so all the gift wrapped chocolate selection boxes have the dark chocolate left in them, they have mounted up and not one of them is past their sell by date. Jack pot.

"In your self-created dictionary, nothing amounts to a valid reason." He said bitterly to the floor.

"Well, I'm never late," I retort, tossing a stray Dairy Milk chocolate to him. I got up determined to fix my ruined science project, crouching over my desk I paid it all my attention while Simon wittered away mostly to himself.

"What if the nurses refuse to let her come up? I mean, you aren't exactly their favourite person, are you?" Truth. "Should I go down and see what's up?"

I looked up, "How about just shutting up?"

"Er, no, it's not my fault your werewolf genes mean you can throw people around like javelins, Derek. I don't know why you are being so pissy with me."  
>"Shut up, Simon, she's coming. For the love of God, shut up," I tidied my papers, methodically returning them back to the sequential order they were originally in and numbering a few pages so I would be able to fix this mess easier if such a mishap occurred again.<p>

Simon beamed when his less advanced hearing heard the bounding footsteps too.


	24. Chapter 24

**Twenty-four**

Simon leaped comically to his bed, snatching up a tattered comic in the aid of looking preoccupied when Chloe tentatively tapped on the door frame, almost like she didn't want to be heard. As the door swung open, he casually tossed it onto the table ruffling his hair and stretching easily while she surveyed the room. Her wide blue gaze lingered in my side, drinking in the bare walls , squinting to see the titles on the spines of the many books that littered my area, she appeared baffled at my complex school project. Simon's area earned a brief appraisal but that didn't mean anything. Simon was an open book, the comics, the cartoons; the sketches were all hung around for everyone to see. He didn't need to hide anything.

"Hey," Simon sat up; stretching his arms again, unknowingly his T-shirt rode up to reveal a patch of bare, tan, stomach. I watched Chloe studiously avert her eyes, a slight blush rising to her cheeks, nevertheless she wasn't salivating with desire. "I was just going to tell Derek we should go downstairs, make sure the nurses weren't giving you any hassle. They didn't, did they?"

I rolled my eyes as Chloe shook her head, like he hadn't asked me more than a dozen times. I set the book I had been holding in my effort to rearrange my messy desk on the very edge. It was shower time. "I'll be in the shower. Start without me," I instructed, fifteen minutes should be more than enough time to covertly flirt with one another.

"Won't the nurses hear the water running?"

"Just tell them I was already in there," I shrugged off her concerns, curling my lip disdainfully at the greasy texture of my hair. "I'll only be a few minutes. I gave her a wide berth as I headed for the door, I didn't expect a Tory-like insult from Chloe, she was too nice for her own good, however sometimes her quiet disparagement, as much as I utterly abhorred admitting it, was far worse. Sure enough, just as I passed, she said quite innocently and too quiet for Simon to hear, "Why don't you just shower in the morning?"

"I do," I hissed out the side of my mouth before leaving, barely refraining from slamming the door and rattling her slender bones. In the shower, under the pounding hot stream of water I didn't feel so sensitive, instead disappointment threatened to drown me as so far there was no indication that Liz was here, so where the hell was she?

I towelled off hurriedly, the silence in here seemed to be mocking me, dressing in my usual baggy gear, furiously pulling at my long sleeved top as it kept sticking t my damp skin, clinging to my unnaturally developed muscles. I scowled, waiting for my skin to dry, my bare foot helplessly tapping against the tiled floor. This anger was unprecedented but I couldn't squash it, no matter how much useless deep breathing and 'thinking happy thoughts' I did. I wanted to hit something. Hard. Breathing through my nose, I concentrated on all the interwoven scents I could detect in the house, even from here I could smell Chloe, I knew she used cocoa butter cream on her skin in the morning after she showered and I was not at all comfortable being privy to this information just because of my enhanced senses. It felt like crossing an invisible line, this was something Simon would want to know. Not me. My fists clenched, shaking uncontrollably. A thought came into my head, unbidden, a thought that had been dancing away at the edges of my mind; I was always too scared to examine it. What if it wasn't the werewolf? What if it was me?

Dad had always reassured me that my academic ability was all mine and there were some really dumb werewolves out there. I was lucky because being smart would stop me being stupid and stupidity gets you dead, a belief Dad and I shared. Who can honestly say that violence and aggression is a werewolf trait? Above all, they believe in protecting their own and loyalty. I have seen pictures and heard the news stories of horrific murders and incidents of scarily violent men and women killing, hurting, maiming in ways that make bile rise to my throat. Stories that reach national status, they are so terrible. Will that be me?

My face stares back at me in the mirror and for the first time it is not the red spots or the lank hair I see, it's the fear radiating from my large eyes, so tangible I can smell it, taste it even. I slam the door behind me as I walk back to the bedroom, calming myself by listening in, I can hear their voices.

"Derek doesn't talk much about living there, but I think it was like growing up in a hospital," unmistakably Simon he was always trying to wheedle those stories out of me, because that's what they were to him: stories. If he knew, maybe he would understand why it's so much better to forget, to embrace the new life you have been given. It's not perfect but when Kit took me home it was to this day the best day of my life, one of my most vivid memories. He took loads of pictures and took me and Simon to the local, shoddy park to celebrate; it wasn't much just a small lake, patches of grass, a few picnic benches and swaying trees. We fed the ducks granary bread and ate huge mint chocolate chip ice creams. Dad let me have both his and Simon's cones too.

"Okay back to me then," I realised I had missed a large chunk of their conversation as I had drifted into the memory. "What do these ghosts want?" Chloe asked.

"Help, I guess."

"With what? Why me?" Cue my entrance.

"Because you can hear them," I answered obviously, I attacked my sopping wet hair with a towel, in my panic I had forgotten to dry it and now it was dripping all over the place, namely over me. "Not much sense in talking to someone who can't hear you."

Chloe looked affronted like she very much resented my imposition on their fascinating interaction. Tough. "Well, duh," she retorted crossing her arms.

I suppressed a smile, "I wasn't going to say it, I grinned as I sat down with my back to her, could feel her glaring twin holes into the back of my head. I folded my towel, "How many necromancers do you think there are walking around out there?"

"How would I know?"

"Well if you think there were a lot, don't you think you would have heard of them?"

"Ease up bro," I shot a look at Simon, conveying that sometimes I may actually be being helpful and not just passively aggressively making everyone around me feel shit.

"We're talking hundreds in the whole country," I continued while pulling a comb through my hair, it snagged on several tangles, "Have you ever met an albino?"

"No."

"Statistically speaking, you're about three times more likely to bump into an albino than a necromancer . . .," I posed a hypothetical situation for her, knowing I was being a tad condescending but being with Simon must have addled her brain because she was even slower than usual. "To know what they want, you are going to have to ask them," I finished, emphasising the last word.

"Easier said than done," she muttered cryptically before divulging about the ghost who was harassing her in the basement, although from what I gathered this ghost seemed to merely want to share his intel. Possibly warn us, but from what? Dr Gill was creepy, but I was ninety percent sure I could take her. It could be something unrelated to any of us, something personal.

"There could still be something back there. Something important you didn't find. Something important to him. Maybe a paper or an object he'd like you to pass onto his family."

"Or clues to his murder. Or buried treasure," was Simon's inane contribution.

"Moving right along," I fixed him with a look, he was trying to lighten the mood, make everything seem less heavy, but what if we were in some serious shit? Jokes weren't going to help us then. "It's probably something stupid, like a letter he forgot to give his wife. Meaningless."

"Whatever it is," Chloe looked up at me, "the point is moot because as long as I'm on these pills I can't make contact to ask." Her furrowed brow told me she disagreed with my meaningless remark, I had a feeling Chloe was a closet romantic. I slid a look over to Simon, trying to think of the most thoughtful thing he had ever done for a girl: dye his hair. Not totally hopeless then, the blonde had suited him, though I ribbed him mercilessly about his brief transformation to Jesse McCartney circa 'Beautiful Soul' albeit with oriental eyes.

"Then you need to stop taking the pills." Obviously.

Just as she said it, I remembered that she was required to take urine tests now, Tori had a lot to answer for. Simon conjectured the most ridiculous solution ever thought up by anybody, my response was a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Crush pills and mix them with wee? I definitely needed to look at his transcripts again, I could have sworn he got a B- in Chemistry. "Okay genius what's your idea?" He challenged.

"I'll think about it. We should get her off those meds. I don't really care what the ghost wants, but he could be useful. As long as we have a willing subject, Chloe should take advantage of it, so she can learn. It's not like she is going anywhere soon, unless they ship her off," I couldn't resist adding, curious whether she would take the bait or not.

"Not funny, bro." I ignored him.

"Not trying to be funny," unlike some of us, I was tempted to say, "seeing ghosts isn't easy to hide. It's not like casting spells. After this morning, with Dr Davidoff and Gill I caught some of their conversation later . . . and was walking by and heard," I remembered that Chloe was in the room just in time.

"She knows about your hearing, bro. She figured it out. She's not stupid." Is that a fact? I scowled at him. "Anyway you overheard . . .?"

I shook my head, "Someone's coming."

"Boys? Chloe? Snack time, come down." Mrs Talbot's voice rang out. Simon answered, not missing a beat.

"Just a sec, you heard the doctors talking. What about?" a fleeting look of panic crossed over Chloe's neat features.

"You. And whether Lyle House is the right place for you."


	25. Chapter 25

**Twenty-five**

Too far? Maybe, but I was doing what was necessary. I just wished she didn't look so damn anxious, the dark smudges beneath her eyes demonstrated that she was extremely worried about Liz as the nurses prevented further contact, so was I but . . . well Liz wasn't here and like Simon says I am nothing if not pragmatic. Take care of the living the dead look after themselves. Except Chloe was now worried about herself too because of me so why not do what I can to help? The drug tests, I spent all morning thinking and came up with a slightly unsavoury but effective solution.

"You want me to . . . dole it out? Into specimen jars?" The look of disgust on her face was priceless.

"Got a better idea?" I challenged her tone irritating me, did she think it was fun to spend my morning considering her urine? It was not. The least she could do was be grateful.

"Um no, but . . . " she lifted the jar and stared at it as if she could already imagine it filling up while my stomach informed me that it needed food pronto.

"Oh for God's sake save your piss. Don't save your piss. It's all the same to me" I barked angrily, it was a conversation we all wanted to escape and she was just dragging it out.

Simon, popping his spiky head around the corner, eyebrows raised and a tentative smile on his lips he can always read my moods, amusement danced in his eyes when he took in Chloe's expression. "I was going to ask what you guys were doing, but hearing that, I think I'll pass." Wise choice. I motioned for her to go down the stairs, she was blocking my lunch.

"Well handed, Derek, you always bowl me over with your excellent people skills," Simon grinned chewing on a banana, his body was angled towards me but his eyes snuck a glance to Chloe approximately every ten seconds. He was oblivious to Tori whose large dark eyes were boring into him and Chloe.

"Suck. My. Left" I said around a mouthful of food. "I was actually trying to be nice"

Simon spluttered, "By giving her advice on how to store her urine. Yeah, dude," he slapped me on the back, "because that's always music to a girl's ears," he smiled widely. Then suddenly turned grave, "Seriously do you think we were too hard on her? Look at her, she's miserable, she looks like she hasn't slept in days. I think we overdid it a bit," he continued cautiously, so Simon, consistently using the pronoun 'we' when we all knew who the real culprit was: me. I took it too far, I should reassure her, but we both knew that would do more damage than good.

"It's too late now and she's just concerned about Liz. They were friends," I explain, hoping he will buy it. Simon can make me feel so guilty sometimes.

"True," he permitted, "But we're not helping. And I'm not leaving without you, you know that," he uttered earnestly under his breath. "We're brothers, Dad told us to stick together, so like it or lump it Einstein."

"Fine, keep your voice down." I lied, but it's all for the greater good. For Dad, for imon, even for Chloe in a way. So that makes it ok, but Simon hates it when I lie to him, he is such a shit liar himself always giving himself away going tomato red, stuttering, girls find it cute. Chloe would find it cute. Everything will work out.


	26. Chapter 26

**Twenty-six**

"Don't lie to me" Oh shit. Simon sat up in bed, his eyes penetrating into me, I pretended to be asleep. "you have to come Derek. You have to." I kept my breathing calm, faked a few snores. "Fuck you." Oh shit.

He stayed silent throughout the day, until Chloe appeared bubbling with questions. He offered to sneak down and help her with the laundry. Chivalrous. Chloe positively beamed at him, sometimes I envy him it' so easy for him, but before she went she looked at me, blue eyes questioning. "I'll try and sneak down later," I said, hiding my own astonishment, she was passing up a chance to spend time with Simon alone when her eyes practically did cartwheels when he appeared?

"It's because you're the genius," Simon scowled, his mood still surly, he folded his arms, glaring. "Are you coming then?" he snapped.

"In a bit," shaking his head, he followed Chloe out of the room. I needed time to think, but then Simon and Chloe alone together and he might spill the beans that no one was trying to get rid of her and we needed that fear. I walked slowly down to the laundry room, not to eavesdrop merely to make sure that I wasn't interrupting anything Simon would kill me for later. Not that Chloe was that kind of girl but he was a fast worker once he met a pretty sporty blonde girl at a cafe and ten minutes later they were kissing in the park, he had skipped school that day and they had been inseparable for a week until she moved house or her dog died or whatever.

"You don't need to tell me that there might not be a ghost here, and I'm not going to make you try and contact it. When Derek comes down, he might. Don't let him push you around." So that was his tactic.

"I don't push her anywhere." I retorted, before I had reached them. "If I tell someone to do something and they do it? That's not my problem. All she has to do is say no. Her tongue works, doesn't it?" I kept my gaze trained on Simon before coolly regarding Chloe who looked notably distraught at my appearance. "So if they decide to transfer you what are you going to do about it?" I posed .

Angrily Simon balled up a shirt, shooting me daggers. "For God's sake Derek they're not -" he only just refrained from swearing, I could tell they were on the tip of his tongue.

"They're thinking about it. She needs a plan." I smoothly interrupted him, everything was in motion no it was too much hassle to back out, this was the new plan Chloe was getting Simon out of here.

"Does she?" Simon's voice rose, "What about you, bro?" he used the term mockingly reminding me of Dad's words. Always stick together Derek, look out for each other. "If word comes down that you're next to go do you have a plan?" Why? He knows whatever happens wherever I go I will be okay so just let it go. My jaw locked as I stared him down, I was intractable on this he could tell, being stubborn was something I excelled at.

"If they do. I don't see that I have a lot of options. I can't exactly refuse."

Maybe I should have chosen Tori instead, but the thought of that whining bitch being my future sister-in-law made my lip curl in distaste. Chloe was it. "So you'll just give in. Go along like a good girl?" I commented disdainfully.

"Ease up bro" Easy for him to say, it wasn't his plan getting blown to smithereens. I pointedly ignored him and continued.

"They won't let you talk to Liz, will they?" I retrieved the laundry she missed and dropped them in the washer.

"Huh what?" I sighed internally, our conversations would be much briefer if he kept up with the conversation.

"Tori asked this morning. I heard. Talbot told her no and said she had told you the same thing when she asked last night." Lying bitch. I grabbed the soap box from Chloe's small hands and dipped in to get the measuring cup, "This helps" I waved it under her nose I could feel Simon rolling his eyes.

"They said i can call Liz on the weekend." She didn't really believe that, did she? Denial.

"Still, seems a little odd. You barely knew the girl, yet you're the first one wanting to call her?"

"It's called being considerate. Maybe you've heard of it?" I batted her hand away from the dials, sarcasm was a new side to her but no one can do sarcastic better than me he needed to find a different tack.

"Darks, cold. Or you'll end up with the dye bleeding," i glanced at her, "See I'm considerate?"

"Sure when it's mostly your stuff in there." Chloe responded quickly, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes shooting to the floor when she heard Simon's appreciative chuckle. Was his approval that important to her? "As for Liz. I just wanted to be sure that she was okay," she said with slight discomfort.

"Why wouldn't she be?"

She outlined her theory, so easy to read, her eyes were hopeful she wanted me to tell her she was being ridiculous when in fact I was impression by her skills of deduction, she was smarter than i gave her credit for. Simon was right I should try and be nicer to her, but being nice requires so much effort it is easier to be an asshole then people immediately adjust their expectations. "So Liz returned from the great beyond to show you her really cool socks?" I scoffed burying the unease that twisted inside me.

Simon looked in shock, "That sure sounds like a ghost."

"Just because she is a ghost, doesn't mean she was murdered," i interjected, ever the voice of reason, the thought of Liz in pain made my stomach knot she was too kind to be hurt so brutally. "She could have had a completely unrelated accident on the way to the hospital. If that happened they wouldn't want to tell us right away." Yeah sure Derek.

"Or maybe she's not dead at all. Could she be astral projecting? Shamans do that right? It might also explain how she was moving stuff around. It wasn't a poltergeist spirit it was her spirit or however it works. You said our powers kick in around puberty right? If we don't know what we are when that happens then this is just the kind of place we end up. A home for teens with weird problems."

I shrugged, too much information. Liz could be alive, safe, if Simon left there might be a chance he would be killed and that was the opposite of keeping him safe. And why the fuck do i know so little about shamans?

"Would being a shaman explain what she was doing? Throwing stuff around? Could she have been popping out of her body without knowing it?"

"I . . . don't know. Let me think about it." This was not the time to be uncertain.


	27. Chapter 27

**Twenty-seven**

Shamans. Shamans. Shamans. Why didn't I think of that before? Because I don't know shit about them. To Google. The place was empty as I crept downstairs, this inane swimming trip couldn't have occurred at a more convenient time, I can't remember ever wanting to not be around Simon, to not know that he's okay, for the first time I am actually relieved he is out of my vicinity. so I don't have to experience the copious amounts of judgement just radiating off him.

I dropped into the chair in front of the clunky computer, my impatience almost making my teeth rattle as I willed the ancient machine to speed the hell up. I wasn't expecting much, I knew very little about shamanism to start with but enough to give Chloe's theory some thought, she happens to be brighter than she looks, who knew? Maybe, that's not fair, it's not her fault she's skittish and small no one expects a fifteen year old to have much intellect anyway. Am I a snob? My inner voice has always been quite scathing but she is Simon's ticket out of here, you would think my subconscious would be kinder.

Dismissing my vaguely paranoid thoughts I clicked on the first link, obviously Wikipedia and read up on the varied acts of shamanism, and the differences across cultures. I took it all in with a pinch of salt, I mean look at Hollywood's interpretation of vampires: sparkling, effeminate and bizarrely moralistic. I shook my head thinking of the time Simon and this red-head Ellie had watched Twilight at the cinema, when he returned he proceeded to describe the entire catastrophe in alarming detail down to Edward Cullen's changing eyes. But he made me the best sandwich in return for listening, so we were cool. Needless to say, he never saw her again.

Back to the glorious internet, I snickered to myself thinking about how things had changed, less than a few weeks ago it was Chloe who was surfing the net ignorantly and discovering the horrifying world of necromancer, I winced as I recalled her passionate reaction and the way I practically hurled her against the wall. God, I'm such a dick. Are all werewolves a victim of the asshole syndrome, I sincerely hope so it would be so much nicer to believe that this was a genetic issue and not simply my scintillating personality. I already knew Chloe was still here, unable to go on the trip because she lacked the appropriate attire and Tori was here too, back to pill-popping and general bitchiness. I had heard them speaking earlier and then go into the laundry room, all very secretive. Girls. Maybe they had formed a truce and suddenly decided to become BFF's.

I snorted, I couldn't see that happening, no matter how well Tori acted out her regret for being such a douche before. I felt gratified then, surely Tori was a less appealing person than I, not taking into account looks or gender that is, at least my intentions are good. I heard footsteps and snapped the browser closed. Tori? Was she singing? She sounded a damn sight happier than she did a few hours ago when she was chatting to Chloe and leading her to the basement and . . .? Wait, where's Chloe?


	28. Chapter 28

**Twenty-eight**

I don't know why I felt the need to go search for her, the first most likely place would be her room. maybe she went there for some privacy, but my gut instinct or werewolf instinct or wherever that thing is that makes your hair stand on end and your adrenaline start pumping around your body when you feel it in your bones that shit is about to get real. So I didn't check in her room, instead I went to the laundry room, to see if I could hear her maybe she was having a cosy little chat with a ghost in the basement and she had made an excuse to Tori to be alone. I just wanted to be sure, because my skin was starting to prickle with awareness. I could hear things, eerie things.

She had to be in there, otherwise she had awoken the undead and left them there which seemed overly irresponsible for anyone to do. How do you kill the undead, Derek? How do you propose you're going to fix this? I prayed Chloe was there, though I know this sounds weird but I could smell her, she smelt scared. The wolf, in me I guess, could detect the fear, I crept in, I could see a match and hear a muffled scream that set my fists clenching so hard I could feel my almost non-existent nails making dents in my palms.

I could see them, actual corpses slithering along the ground reaching for something. Her. I could see the gleaming kernel white of their bones flashing indecently through ragged clothing, the tiniest bit of hair still hanging on to their glaringly bright skulls. Fuck me, she was powerful. I swallowed as I heard her scream again, she was clearly petrified, I could smell urine and I didn't blame her. I heard her kick with all her strength, I could almost feel the force and might she put behind it as she snapped the skeletal being right in the head giving me a clear-ish view of her. I was proud for a second, didn't think she had it in her. She was small but big. And then she took off and taking a deep breath I scuttled after her like a little beetle because though the kick had helped I could still hear them gathering their strength to take off after her again and they needed to be gone. As in dead again, now preferably.

"Chloe. Stop!" I called, though that just made her go faster. "It's- fuck!" Jesus! She kicked me hard as she could in the ribs, I gasped in pain, that hurt. I wrapped my hand around her arm and as she aimed her other one I gripped that too preventing any further assault, she squirmed as I yanked her off balance. "Chloe, it's me, Derek." And she collapsed into me, while I found her gag and ripped it off, I tried to be gentle. And I wanted to comfort her, I really did, she's so little and surprisingly brave and she didn't deserve this but there were dead people literally coming to get us and we needed to fix this pronto.

"Th-there's-"

"Dead people, I know. They must have been buried down here. You accidentally raised them." This was not the time to beat around the bush.

"R-raised?" She looked up at me, fear and disbeelief at war in her round blue eyes. I wish we had time for me to reassure her, even to give her more time to come to terms with what she had done but. . .

"Later. Right now, you need to. . . " Chloe left, not walked out but her ind was occupied with something else, them I guess, the corpses, as I could hear them approaching, it took all my willpower not to shake her out of it. "Chloe, focus!" I pulled her closer trying to think of the words that would make her understand how critical this situation was and to give her back some perspective. I wasn't that much of a dick that I couldn't see that this would make anyone almost lose their mind, "They won't hurt you. They aren't brain-eating movie zombies, okay? They're just dead bodies with their spirits returned to them."

If possible she looked even more terrified, "I-I need to send them back." She gulped loudly, evidently horrified about what she had done, I wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, that she didn't know but the words got stuck in my throat. We had more important things to deal with.

"Yeah, that'd be the general idea." Keep it lighthearted, I tried for my trademark sarcasm and failed miserably, my ability to keep calm in most situations was starting to fail me.

"O-okay, so how do I send them back?"

"Derek?"

"I ... I don't know." I shook it off, rolling my shoulders, i hate saying those words and it only ever happens around her. "You summoned them, Chloe. Whatever you did, undo it. Reverse it."

"I didn't do -"

"Just try."

She closed her pretty eyes, they were honestly even prettier in the dark, bluer, bigger. "Go back. Back to your afterlife. I release you." She repeated the words like a mantra, her pink lips forming them carefully and cleary, she meant them, she put all her energy into them like she was making the most important birthday wish in her life, I could see it, tiny sweat beads formed on her forehead, glistening as they slid down her face and I. . . I wanted to kiss her. I don't know why. She's pretty and nice, but she was clearly having a crisis, was possibly mentally unstable (I know I was), she had dirt streaks on her pale skin and had just wet herself and I wanted to kiss her. More than I had ever wanted to kiss anyone in my life. Maybe it was because she was scared, and I have apparently developed some foolish fetish for damsel in distresses, is what Simon has contagious? Is this another thing I am going to have to Google? I miss being smart and sarcastic. Things used to be so simple, there was definitely a lack of alert corpses.

"Help. Help."

My throat went dry. The voice was right behind her. "Shit," I tightened my hands around her forearms, I could feel her whole body stiffen at the sound of the voice or my hold, but all trivial thoughts of wanting to kiss her flew right out of my mind.

"Keep your eyes closed, Chloe. Just remember, they won't hurt you," I said, trying to convinvce myself as well as her, I was too afraid to shut my eyes though I desperately wanted to, a bony finger reached out gingerly to touch her and she jumped, I gripped her even tighter pulling her closer to me."It's okay, Chloe. I'm right here. Keep going."

I could see the fingers slither on her arm and poke, prod her shirt, her back. I breathed deeply, struggling to keep my composure, reassuring myself in my mind. It's ok, she's ok, it'll be gone soon, it's ok, she's ok. She's ok. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I could feel her focusing, her breathing matched mine,and I found myself thinking these were the kind of experiences that bonded people for life. Though I was sure Chloe would run a mile from any bond we might share, breathe in, out. Again. I could feel she was making progress, so I offered up generic words of encouragement unsure if she even heard then finally . . . "They're gone, Chloe," I whispered.

She stopped and then twisted sideways, the corpse fell, an empty shell,

collapsing at her feet.

I let out a long, deep breath, running my hands through my hair, resisting the urge to pull it clean out, trying to find some semblance of sanity. I looked at her and she was just Chloe, it was strange I didn't want to kiss her anymore perhaps it was just stress. No, her and Simon were made for each other. "Are you okay?" I asked, ashamed slightly of how long it took me to ask, though the question, given the ordeal we had so recently endured, felt incredibly inadequate but Simon would have enquired instantly.

"I'll live."

I looked at the body."Guess we've got some work to do."


	29. Chapter 29

**Twenty-nine**

We reburied the bodies, it wasn't pretty and luckily (for her at least) it was dark and she couldn't see much. I tried not to think about it too much and we worked fairly fast. Job done. The graves were shallow, but that couldn't be helped, we were only two people and one of us barely even counted as fully grown (mentioning no names) but given that she had just essentially risen the dead I decided to cut her some slack.

"How did you know where I was?" Chloe asked.

The correct answer being I used my wolfy super-senses to sniff you out which seemed a little too honest so I opted for a semi-truth, "I knew Tori was here and I heard you chatting earlier, I could tell she was up to something so I checked the obvious places to see where you were." I half-mumbled. "It's not important, anyway, what are you going to do about Tori?" We all knew she was unstable, but to go this far just because Simon liked Chloe was insane. She was a danger now, who knew what she was capable of? To bound and gag another human being, I felt a little sick when I thought of the comparison I made between me and her earlier, my intentions are good and when I lose it, it's impulsive, not premeditated. I would never, never do this.

"Nothing," she answered, wiping her shaking hands after we had patted down the second grave.

"Huh?"

She clarified. "I'm going to act like nothing happened."

I considered it, and then nodded, this was pragmatic of her and probably the smartest thing to do, give her blatant insanity. "Yeah. If you blame her, things will only escalate. Better to ignore her and hope she gives up."

"Pray she gives up," she amended not intending for me to hear.

"Is there still clean clothing down here?" I asked.

"One load in the dryer. That's it. Why -? Oh, right. Better not to go upstairs covered in dirt. Most of what's in the dryer was yours so-"

"Chloe? Derek?" Mrs. Talbot stood in the laundry room. "What are you two doing together? Derek, you know you're not supposed to -" Her gaze traveled over our filthy clothing. "Dear Lord, what happened to you?"

Chloe clearly thought I was going to save our asses but I could already see her beady little eyes putting two and two together and coming up with seven. God, I hate that woman sometimes. Chloe began a fairly unbelievable excuse "I was doing laundry, and D-Derek came down, looking for -"

Dr. Gill stepped into the room. "Go on, Chloe."

"H-he wanted his shirt. I -I asked about stain stud, because I couldn't find any and I opened the closet to look, and Derek said it was usually l-locked. We f-found the ladder and the crawl sp-space and we were curious."

"Oh, I bet you were curious," Dr. Gill said, crossing her arms. "Kids your age are very curious, aren't they?"

"I -I guess so. We were exploring-"

"I bet you were," Dr. Gill cut in.

I could tell the moment she understood what Dr Gill thought, I also knew that she wasn't thick and was aware it would be the perfect excuse. The more she denied it the more it looked like it was true and I don't think she denied it because she knew it gave the idea more merit. No, it was pride, for Simon I have no doubt that in a second she would have admitted to it, by now they'd have their explanation, with no reason to go into the crawl space and discover those hastily reburied it had been Simon, she wouldn't have hesitated to think about it, but me? Of course not, to be honest it didn't sit right with me either you didn't have to be a genius to figure out that girls like Chloe did not, ever, even hang around guys like me so why were they even considering this. Were they that bored that they wanted some new scandal to bring up with her Aunt Lauren. Chloe clearly would never look twice at me. I am shocked that they didn't accuse me of rape or something, it would be more in character. It didn't matter, either way. The more she denied it, the more certain they were that we'd been fooling around. Dr. Gill had

already made up her mind and even had Mrs. Talbot convinced, her mouth tight with

disapproval as Chloe span more and more fabricated tales.

Me? I didn't say a word.

Once we were released, Chloe shot out of there like a bat out of hell, either out of embarrassment or the burning desire to change out of her sullied clothes, most likely both. I calmly went to my room and took a shower, aware that Chloe's perfect Aunt would arrive and have it out with her. And silently wishing they could just call Dad, despite what Simon thought I really wanted to see him, I missed kit as much as he did. Sometimes, I just wish I was a kid again, not before Kit took me in obviously, but after, a little kid in the world with a nice, normal parent and chores to do on Saturdays. Those were the days.

"What happened?" Simon almost looked like me an hour ago in the basement except exceptionally more photogenic. I really didn't want to get into this, but I gave him a brief run-down of the most important highlights. Even throwing in the notion that Dr Gill thought we were getting it on, he would find out later anyway probably from a horrified Chloe. To his credit, Simon didn't say anything, he didn't even look at me with incredulousness which is to be expected. "Shit, bro. I almost wish I had stayed, except if I had been there I would have screamed like a little girl and lost significant man points." He ran his fingers through his spikes. "What happens now?"

"We have a trial."

"What will they do? Lecture you on the merits of safe sex," he snorted. "Where are you going to get condoms in here?" he chuckled.

"I don't know, maybe they'll transfer one of us," I said, not really believing it would come to that, we were brothers so it was unlikely, even though I considered a menace to society, that they would split us up. And Chloe was harmless, her father was rich, who knew what he paid to keep her here.

"Really?" Simon looked worried.

"Maybe," I corrected, after all anything is possible.

The trial was an absolute joke. We both sat there, facing the assholes probably looking guilty as hell while I thought about what I could steal for dinner. I was starving. They babbled on and on about ridiculous things like decorum and appropriate behaviour and rules and respect. If they asked me anything, I would just mumble "Whatever." I wasn't going to confess or deny because even if we were hooking up in the oh-so-romantic spot that is the dingy, dank basement it would be none of their business. Weirdos.

"This isn't the first time you two have . . . tangled," Dr. Gill said finally. "And I have a feeling it won't be the last." Really bitch, really? "We need to nip this in the bud, and the only way we're going to do that is with a transfer. One of you will have to go." What an over-reaction.

"I will." Chloe piped up, buying into all this utter bullshit.

"No one's going anywhere," Dr. Davidoff calmly interjected, seemingly the only one in the room with a brain (aside from me, naturally). "For now, I'm putting you both on notice. But don't give

me any reason to revisit this discussion. Is that understood?"

I really want a cheeseburger. I think I would die for a double cheeseburger.


	30. Chapter 30

**Twenty-nine**

When the doctors finally deigned to let us out, we both headed into the hall together, although clearly Chloe was trying to lag behind feeling awkward or whatever. I waited watching her fuss with her clothes unnecessarily, my fingers tapping against my arm with impatience, this was such a waste of fucking time. "What are you wiping at?" I asked quietly.

"A spot."

"There's no spot."

She straightened, tugging at her shirt and adjusting it. That's because I fixed it."

She attempted to step past me, but I refused to move.

"We need to talk."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Simon'll be there," I added, ignoring her, this should be a good enough incentive. "Five minutes. Out back."

Five minutes later. No-one. Ten minutes later, still no-one. I cursed and went to find them and give them both a piece of my mind. Chloe was in the media room, so closer than SImon I decided she was the easier target so I went straight to her. "They mean well, I guess. But it stings." Rae was chatting away about her own woes. "The worst of it -" Her gaze rose met mine. "What do you want?" What a welcoming greeting, such a charmer.

I ignored Rae and stopped in front of Chloe tapping my watch. "Did I say five

minutes?"

"Yes, you did. And I said it wasn't a good idea."

"We need to talk to you."

Rae started to rise. "Should I get the nurses?"

She waved her down, then turned to me. "No."

I squashed down the urge to just pick her up and take her outside so we could talk and actually make shit happen instead of sitting in the depressing media room and letting shit happen to us. I pushed my hands as deep as I could into my pockets, searching and searching for any kind of calm. Rocking back on my heels I tried a different approach, Chloe liked Simon. A lot. "Simon wants to talk to you."

"Does Simon have feet?" Rae asked. "A mouth? What are you? His faithful Saint Bernard, lumbering around,bearing your master's messages?"

I swiveled, putting my back to Rae, feeling desperate now, the shockof almost getting transferred would be greatest now and I knew, I knew that this was our last chance. Our only chance. "Chloe?" I pleaded. "Chloe, pl -" I held the /, stretching it, almost saying it but I couldn't, I cut it short and walked out as fast as I could.

I looked for Simon, but he wasn't upstairs, I went outside for a bit to cool down, my skin was burning, I felt on edge and barely in control, I hate that feeling. Still starving, I went to hunt up some food uncaring if they caught me head first in a cereal box as I ate everything I could find, once my thoughts had started to make sense to me again and my stomach stopped being an aching, empty hole I heard Chloe's voice.

"I might be stuck in Buffalo, but I'm wired. I subscribe to Variety, Creative Screenwriting, a whack of industry loops, bookmark the blogs ... If I want to be in this business, I have

to know this business. The sooner the better."

"Oh, man. I don't even know what I want to be yet." Simon. He was there, fucking flirting. Typical. So typical. I went to them.

"I can hire you to do all my fog effects."

He laughed, then looked behind her, to me. "Hey, bro. Get enough fresh air?"

"I wanted to talk to you." I glowered at the two of them. "Both of you."

"Then pull up a chair. The current topic of conversation is zombie movies." Simon glanced at Chloe. "Are we still on zombie movies?"

"I think so."

"Zombie movies?" I repeated slowly, disbelieving. Could he really think that getting into her pants was more important than finding Dad again. I know my brother and I refuse to think he is that shallow."Have you two forgotten what happened today?"

"Nope. That's why we're talking about it." Simon replied, casually grinning at Chloe. "Kinda."

"Chloe is in danger. Serious danger. And you're lounging around, yapping about zombie movies?" Maybe that would get his attention.

"Lounging? Yapping? Good word choices. Very evocative. You making a point? I know perfectly well what happened and what it could mean for Chloe. But the sky isn't going to fall if we don't discuss it this very minute, Chicken Little." He stretched. "Right now, I think we could all use some time to just chill."

"Chill? You do a lot of that, don't you?" I walked over to Simon. "In fact, that's pretty much all you do." This was ridiculous, why was I the one who had to fix everything, who had to make plans, Kit is Simon's biological father and sometimes he acts like he doesn't give a shit.

Chloe stood. "I -I'd better see if Rae needs help. With her chores."

Simon sat. "Hold up. We're almost done here." He turned to me. "Right?"

"Sure. Go ahead. Take it easy. I'm sure Dad will walk in that door any minute and rescue us. And if he's in trouble? If he needs help? Well, too bad, 'cause that would require effort and you're too busy . . . chilling."

Simon sprang to his feet and I didn't move an inch, he looked pissed. Well, join the club, we stood facing each other for a moment both too angry to say anything and too close to do anything. I knew Simon probably wanted to hit me, but he knoes I would never hit him back, for obvious reasons. I love my brother, I don't want to decapitate him. Simon nudged Chloe toward the door. "Let's go."

They left.

Great.

.


	31. Chapter 31

**Thirty-one**

I watched them go outside, Mrs Talbot kicked up a fuss and Simon exasperated told her they would be in plain sight. They went outside and I wasn't in the mood to watch them and try to lip read. I was angry. Angry at myself, Chloe and Simon. Especially Simon. If it was the other way round, if he was imploring me to go and find Dad, I would go in a heartbeat, Simon hates it here even more than I do, at least I can gain something here. There is no way you can hurt anyone if you're on lockdown (Chloe was the exception and one I deeply, deeply regret). SImon, however, is trapped, he's normal and nice and good-looking, this is not supposed to be his life, doesn't he want things to return to how they were. With or without me, most people would jump at the chance. DAd could be in danger, because let's face it if he wasn't then he would be here with us, getting us out of here, helping us and being our Dad again.

I trudged upstairs to our room and lay down on my bed staring up at the ceiling, I wanted a reprieve from everything that had happened today, I was exhausted. I stretched, feeling restless, and decided to do some push-ups, just any kind of exercise to distract me. I could feel my muscles start to cramp when they weren't used, so now was as good a time as any to do something. I really wanted to run, but it was too early to sneak out. I wanted to exhaust my body as well as my mind, maybe then I would get a good night's sleep and everything would fix itself by tomorrow, I thought cynically.. I snickered, never have I been accused of being an optimist.

Feeling still miserable, but slightly less angry and not to mention a little ripe, not from the exercise that was nothing, it takes more than a few push-ups to make me lose my breath, another werewolf thing I think. Good stamina. I grabbed a towel so I could go into the shower, it was getting late so it was time. I hate puberty, I hate what it has done to my face, to my sweat glands, even my body. I don't want to be this ridiculously pumped up freak at sixteen, I don't look like me. I don't look like anyone.


	32. Chapter 32

**Thirty-two**

I grabbed a change of clothes and went to the bathroom, thinking momentarily of Liz. COuld she be dead? Did Chloe see her ghost? I flipped on the lightswitch and dumped my stuff onto the side of the sink and faced the mirror. I yelped when I saw Chloe reflected back at me, slightly relieved when I realised it wasn't an axe murderer. Not particularly because I wanted to live, but more because that would have gotten messy and I hate mess, almost as much as I hate disobedience. Life would be so much easier if people just did what I told them to do. This free will business has to stop. "Are you nuts? What are you doing here?" I hissed. She walked past me and locked the door. "If you want to discuss the plan, this really isn't the place."

I pivoted, keeping my eyes on her as she crossed to the shower and turned on the cold water, so it would drown out our conversation without steaming up the room.

"Great," I muttered. "Now they're going to think we're showering together. Maybe we can just tell them we were washing off the crawl space dirt and trying to conserve water." At best they could accuse us of being environmentally friendly.

"You set me up. All this time, I've been trying to figure out why you want to help me. Why do you care if I know I'm a necromancer? Why do you care if I get booted out? Why stick your neck out for me, like you did this afternoon?"

"I just want -"

"To help. Sure, you're obnoxious and arrogant,. . ." No please, tell me how you really feel, "but underneath, there's a decent guy who wants to help a fellow supernatural. Yeah, right. There has to be another reason. Today I found it. Simon."

I crossed my arms no longer impressed at her 'putting two and two together', of course everything revolves around Simon, the fucking sun would orbit around him if it could but it's way too busy shining out of his ass. "Yeah, Simon wanted me to be nice to you. Okay? Can I have my shower now? Alone?"

"You want Simon to run away. To find your dad. But he won't go without you. He needs a reason to go right now. So you gave him one. The designated damsel in distress."

"I don't know what you're talking about," okay, so maybe I should start giving her more credit, but denial definitely seems like the best policy.

"Here I was, a real necromancer, naive and lost. Perfect bait. Just keep pushing us together, make a big deal out of how helpless I am, and eventually he'll pull on his shining armour. Great plan. But it still lacks something. Stakes. In any great thriller, your hero needs three things. Goal, motivation, and stakes. Goal: find your missing dad. Motivation: help the poor necromancer

chick. The stakes were missing, though. You needed to put your damsel in actual distress. What if she was about to be transferred to a real mental hospital? Where she'd be out of Simon's reach and beyond help? Or, worse, where she might die, the victim of some evil plan. So you get Tori to -"

"No!" I protested adamantly, did she really think I was capable of that, had I been that heartless to her?. "I did not have anything to do with that. Even if Tori would get close enough to me to carry on a conversation -which you may have noticed, she won't-I wouldn't do that. I did nothing to make them transfer you."

"Okay, so you just took advantage of the situation. When I first told you about seeing Liz, you brushed it off. But then you realized this could work in your favour, so you changed your tune with Simon. You planted the seeds of doubt, then waited for them to sprout. That's why you didn't argue when I offered to be the one transferred. That's exactly where you wanted manipulated the situation and you lied -"

"I never lied." She glared at me. "You really heard the doctors talking about transferring me yesterday?"

"I heard them talking about you and they seemed to be suggesting -"

"Okay, you didn't lie. You exaggerated."

I scowled. "You are in danger. The more I think about Liz -"

"Cut the crap, okay, Derek? You got your wish. Simons going. I'm going with him. You're right. He needs to get out and find his father. Of course, you could have saved us all this trouble by just going with him yourself. But that might be dangerous. And he's not your father so it's not

really your problem -"

I reacted instinctively to that and shot towards her checking myself just in time, I could feel the anger blazing in my eyes, "Is that what I think, Chloe?"

She stood her ground, "I don't know what you think, Derek," she said, "Simon says there's a reason you won't go. A stupid reason, according to him. So maybe it's an excuse. Maybe you just don't want to bother."

"An excuse?" A bitter laugh. Then I backed off,. "You read my file, right?"

"I-"

"I know you read it that night when you and Rae pretended to be raiding the kitchen."

"Only because of what you did. I had to know -"

"How dangerous I was. I don't blame you. But you got your answer, right? You know exactly how dangerous I am."

She swallowed nervously, "I -"

"You know what I did, and you think I should be walking the streets?" His lip curled. "I'm exactly where I belong."

She didn't respond until: "You must have had a reason for doing it."

"Did I?" When she attempted to avert her blue gaze again I snagged her attention back my sidestepping into her view, I wanted her to admit it and hear what I had to say seen as she was so quick to add things together and come up with her own assumptions. "Is that what you want,

Chloe? To hear my reason? My excuse? That the guy pulled a gun on me and if I hadn't thrown him into a wall, I'd be dead? Well, that's not how it happened. There's a kid out there who'll never walk again and I have no excuse. It's my fault. All my fault. Our dad disappearing. Simon

being thrown in here. I -"

I stopped talking, consciously snapping my mouth shut, why was I saying all this? Sharing all this? After a moment, I said, "So, yeah, I want Simon out, and I'll do anything to get him out, but it's not like I'm putting you in danger. You're getting something out of it. You don't have any reason to complain."

She stared at me, uncomprehending. Not so quick to add now. "No danger?" she said slowly. "I'm running away. From the home. From my family. From my life."

"You'll be with Simon. Don't pretend that's any big hardship." I explained.

"What?"

"You know what I mean. A few days alone with Simon? That'll be tough. And it means a lot to him. A lot. Running away to help him find his dad? He'll never forget that."

Her eyes almost lit up as they widened. "Oh my God, do you think so? Really? That's

so cool. I bet he'll ask me to go steady and everything. We can send love letters between my juvenile detention center and his, and maybe they'll let us meet at the coed dances. . . ."

I glowered at her.

"You really think I'm an idiot, don't you?" she snapped angrily. "No, don't answer that. Please. News flash: getting a boyfriend is not at the top of every girl's priority list. Right now, it ranks about as low on mine as you can get -way below such trivial concerns as getting my life

back together."

"All right -" I felt bad now, I was asking for a lot. Her life was normal too before she got into this shit-hole.

"After this is over, I wouldn't be surprised if Simon wanted to never see me again. Just put this all behind him. You know what? That's fine. Because I need to find out what happened to Liz. And I want to help Simon because it's the right thing to do, not because I think he's sooo cute. I might not be a genius like you -"

"I'm not -"

"But I'm smart enough to know this isn't going to be some grand romantic adventure. I'm running away. I'll be living on the streets. Even if we find your dad, I'm not sure he's going to be able to fix my life. I'm not sure it can be fixed."

"So I'm supposed to be grateful to you for going?"

"I never said -"

I cut her off "You need to get out of here just as much as Simon does, maybe more. You might not see the danger you're in, but I do. And I'm worried."

"Worried? About me?" I wasn't shocked at the sheer disbelief that coloured her tone.

I shrugged, deciding to play it cool, I do have a shred of humanity. "Sure. Concerned. You know." I didn't look her in the eyes, she wouldn't believe me anyway, her preconceptions of me are far too fixed and I can't say I blame her. "Yeah, we need you, but I do want to help a fellow supernatural." I peeked a glance at her. "We gotta stick together."

"Don't you dare."

"What?"

I glanced away, looking at the tiles instead. Looking at absolutely anything.

"You're right," she said. "I do need help. My life is falling apart and maybe someday I'll look back on this as the biggest, stupidest mistake I've ever made, but at thin moment, it's the only solution I see. You need me to be your designated damsel in distress? Okay. But don't ever say you're doing this for me. This has nothing to do with me, Don't you dare pretend it does."

She turned and walked out. And basically left me feeling like shit. Again.


	33. Chapter 33

**Thirty-three**

I can't sleep. Simon isn't talking to me, he's still angry as hell. My muscles still feel uneasy, they ripple with tension every single time I move. I have been tossing and turning and cursing for the last two hours, giving up I get out of my sweltering bed, it's impossible to sleep in anything more than boxers and try to do some stretches. It's not enough. I find some water on the nightstand and splash my face with it, I wipe the droplets of cool liquid off my face with one of Simon's T-shirt's. It's so hot. I lie down on top of the covers and shut my eyes, after a long while I must drift off. I dream about ghosts and dead bodies reawakening, and Chloe. She's there. Of course she is, if dead bodies are going to be resurrected who else is going to be there? She's running, fast, too fast. I can't catch up with her and then there's Simon. He's sitting alone, eyes glazed over. Is he dead? No! I run to him and shake his shoulders violently. . .

A knock on the door interrupts my dream, I'm confused uncertain whether I dreamed that too, my face is burning and my mind is recoiling, the dream felt far too vivid.

I hear a timid voice. "Derek?".

Chloe.

"Derek?"

I heave my weary, sleep-riddled body out of my bed again, and rub the sleep out of my eyes as I pad softly to the door and open it just before she goes to knock again.

"Chloe?"

She looks at me and I try to gage her expression, she looks worried, a little uncertain, embarrassed of guessing her reason for being here I would just ask. "Chloe? What -?"

"You owe me."

"Huh?" I rub my eyes again, snarl a yawn, and roll my shoulders. I really need sleep, my body has been so restless lately, a part of me knows what it means but a bigger, fairly stupid part of me doesn't want to ever have to deal with it. "What time is it?"

"Late. Or early. It doesn't matter. I need your help and you owe me. Get dressed and be downstairs in five minutes." Chloe giving me orders, the tables have turned. I fight a small smile at the irony of this predicament, not so long ago I had asked her to meet me in five minutes and she had ignored that request. But she was right, I owed her, her life was about to turn even more upside down than it already had and so what if she did like Simon. Who didn't? I couldn't blame her for that, if anything it made her normal.

I pulled on sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, hating the confinement of clothing. As I walked into the hall downstairs silently as ever, taking extra care not to wake anyone, my muscles rippled with a vengeance and I the urge to scratch my arm was more prominent than ever, Chloe nearly smacked straight into me as she emerged from the media room pulling on Rae's sweater, her small frame almost colliding with my stomach. God, she really was tiny. I, furiously scratched one bare forearm.

"Fleas?" she joked, with little humour.

I glared hatefully, she might not be far off the mark.

"Let's just get this over with," I said. "I'm not in a good mood." But then when am I ever?

She squashed down her retort and just gestured me into the media room, closing the door carefully behind her. She cocked her head like an adorable little puppy listening for their owner's footsteps, little did she know I had us covered

"We're fine here," I told her. "Just keep it down. Someone comes, I'll hear."

She traipsed around the room, pausing in a patch of moonlight. I clenched my fists, I felt awful, abnormal my face was burning, my temperature ten times hotter than usual. I could self combust any moment now, I scratched angrily at my back, wanting to be in a bath of ice to cool myself down. Anywhere but here, with Chloe while she stared at me like I was some sort of freak. Sweat clung to my hair, I was desperately in need of another shower, this was more than just a petty night sweat, what was happening? Was this it? Would I Change tonight? Please God, if you exist don't let it be tonight. I'm not ready. Please.

"You've got a fever." No shit, Sherlock.

"Maybe." I raked my hair back, the sweat transferring to my hand. "Something I ate, I guess." I added, just to keep up the pretense it would do no good for her to find out, possibly only lead to fuel her justified hatred for me even more.

"Or some bug you picked up."

I shook my head before I could stop myself. "I don't . . ." I hesitated, and then continued, why not, I knew more about her than she most likely wished me privy to. "I don't get sick. Not often anyway. Part of my.. ." what? curse, genetics? "condition. This seems to be a reaction." I scratched at my arms again, unable to stop myself. "No big deal. I'm just off. Crankier than usual, Simon would say." If he was speaking to me.

"You should go back to bed. Forget this -".

"No, you're right. I owe you." And I don't like to be indebted to anyone. "What do you need?" I have to admit, a part of me was curious, what had her so caught up that she woud wake me up from her slumber surely that was akin to waking an angry bear up from hibernation at least in her eyes.

"Hold on," she said, and hurried into the hall.

"Chloe!" I followed her, annoyed.

She returned to me with a full glass of water and four Tylenol."Two for now, two for later, in case you -"

I tossed all four in his mouth and drained half the water, before she had a chance to complete her sentence..

"Or you could just take them all now."

"I've got a high metabolism," I explained. "Another part of my condition." Yes, why not share anything Derek, seen as you're feeling so chatty today, you idiot.

"I know a lot of girls who wouldn't mind that."

The small talk was starting to agitate me, patience isn't my most admirable quality, I grunted that she could keep the pleasantries to herself but she didn't hear. Which was probably for the best.

"Thanks, but . . ." I looked her in the eyes, meaning it. "You don't need to be nice to me just because I'm not feeling great. You're mad. You've got a right to be. I used you and I made it worse by pretending I hadn't. If I were you, I wouldn't be bringing water unless it was to dump over my head."

I could tell that I had taken her by surprise. Hell, I had taken both of us by surprise, that's quite possibly the closest I have ever gotten to a heartfelt apology in my life. I turned to set the glass on the table so she would have time to regain her sense of self and look less like she had been hit by a bus, or saw a pig fly merrily across the sky. A little insulting to me. I can be nice. "Okay, so you need . . . ?" I prodded her verbally.

She waved me to the couch and I glowered, like comfort even mattered, she could just tell me what bothered her, I could answer it and we could both just go to bed. But then she sat in the chair, clearly not letting up so I crashed into the loveseat, grateful to rest a little as we talked about whatever was on her mind.

"You know something about necromancy, right?" she began.

I shrugged. "I'm no expert."

"But you know more than me, Simon, or anyone else I can talk to at this moment. So how do necromancers contact the dead?"

"You mean like the guy in the basement? If he's there, you should see him. Then you'd just talk, like we are right now."

"I mean contacting a specific person. Can I do that? Or am I restricted to those I just stumble across?"

I didn't say anything for a second, is that what this was about? I mean it made sense, if you lose someone you love and miss, why wouldn't you try to contact them, see how they are and tell them that you love them. I didn't want to say this. "If you mean your mom, Chloe -" I decided to break it to her gently, but she interrupted sharply.

"No.I haven't even thought - Well, yes, I've considered it, for someday maybe, of course I'd like to, love to-" she stopped herself, getting back to the original point. Clearly, this wasn't something she would want to discuss with me. No hard feelings. "This is connected to our situation."

"You mean Liz?"

"No. I -I should try to contact her, I guess. J-just to be sure. But that's not it. Forget why I want to know."

I leaned back into the sofa pillows. "If I knew why, I could answer a lot easier."

"If I can contact a specific person, how would I do it?"

"You can, but it's not easy and it's not guaranteed at your age. Like Simon and his spells, you're at the . . .apprenticeship level."

"Where I can do things by accident, like raising the dead."

"Well, no." I absently scratched my arm, the skritch-skritch filling the silence. "From what I heard, raising the dead is the toughest thing to do, and it needs this complicated ritual." I shooky my head, that incident still baffled me, she absolutely should not be able to do that. "I must have heard wrong. Like I said, I'm not an expert."

"Back to how, then. How do I call up a specific ghost?"

I slouched, head resting on the sofa back, staring at the ceiling before nodding. "If I remember right, there are two ways. You could use a personal effect."

"Like with a tracking dog."

A small noise emanated from me that sounded, suspiciously, like a laugh. "Yeah, I guess so. Or like one of those psychics you see in movies,always asking for something that belonged to the person."

"And the second way?"

"You need to be at the grave."

I could feel her heart pound, but I had no idea if it was in remembrance of the ordeal she had suffered earlier or for an entirely new, unkown reason. Did she want to go cemetery-hopping?"At the grave. Presuming that's where the body is buried. It's the body that's important, not the grave site."

"Yeah, the body. The ultimate personal effect."

"Then I think I know what that ghost in the basement wanted."

She explained how the ghost had urged her to "make contact" to "summon them" and "get their story."

"He meant the buried bodies. That's why he wanted me to go into the crawl space. So I could get close enough to the bodies to contact those ghosts."

I reached back to scratch between my shoulders, my whole body felt like hell as I tried to concentrate on her words. "Why?" I asked.

"From what he seemed to say, it's about Lyle House. Something they can tell me."

"But those bodies have been down there way longer than Lyle House has been a group home. And if this ghost knows something, why not just tell you himself?"

"I don't know. He said ..." she strained to remember. "He seemed to be saying he couldn't make contact with them himself."

"Then how would he know they had anything important to tell you?"

"I don't know," she replied after careful consideration. "However they got there, I'm pretty sure they didn't die of natural causes. You're probably right, and it's completely unconnected to us, and this ghost is confused, losing track of time. Or maybe he wants me to solve their murder." she stood. "But, whatever he wants me to hear, I'm going to listen. Or at least try."

"Hold up." I lifted a hand and got up onto my feet. "We should take a flashlight. I'll grab that. You get our shoes."


End file.
